Pain and Promise
by Borath
Summary: There are demons in the world who feed off of the pain of others. Spike's about to learn this for himself when a new demon shows up seemingly intent on causing him as much pain physically and mentally as possible. *Complete*
1. Default Chapter

Pain. It's an interesting concept really. Physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, it all accumulates over the years. Some deal with it; cry when they need to, scream when they have to. Others deny it; seeing crying as a weakness and screaming as an unnecessary embarrassment, shoving every hurt and fear deep, deep down and sealing it away. Unfortunately, doing the latter often results in a backlash of emotion at the worst possible time that makes the mind heave and the body crumble. As I said, an interesting concept.  
  
In the world of 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' there are creatures that feed on all the grief that humanity accumulates. In the grand scale of things, a normal, individual human doesn't build up much pent-up emotion in their lifetimes. No, to exploit the real grief you go to the demons and fair- folk, creatures that live centuries at a time. In their world, the world of vampires and monsters, despair is a weakness, something that must be hidden at all costs lest your enemies smell it and sense weakness. Over their long lives the emotions they have pent up for this very reason is astronomical.  
  
The demons who feed on this grief and despair, the most powerful emotions right up there with love and joy, would pay well to gather such vast amounts of it from a source such as the 'soul' of a demon. Sadness is simply more accessible and easier to wield than happiness. However, one had to go the right way about extracting as much emotion as possible from one demon to feed the other.  
  
Deparis was one of those people. He could make a demon hurt in the worst ways imaginable. He had recently been hired by some bint who wanted to destroy the world, nothing new really, but the pay was good. This woman, Vala, was going to use one of the worst demons the universe had ever seen to do it, but this demon took its strength from the grief of others. Deparis had been selected to gather that grief, bleed it out of a creature until it was dry and the beast could rise in its full and terrifying might to, well, destroy the world for the stupidly lazy Vala.  
  
If truth be told, he wasn't that interested in the payment; he was set up as it was. No, his task was what really intrigued him. This demon, a vampire to be specific, would be a fun challenge for him, the usual assignments that came his way usually being revenge or just plain, uninteresting torture. No, this one was different. This would be quite entertaining.  
  
He had resources at had for his job; a portal for time traveling, access to various weapons and toys at his disposal. He took his job seriously, researching his subject intently before moving into the area for reconesence. He was careful; the obvious wasn't always the best method of attack. If the subject was burying something worthwhile, it would be buried deep, and he had to go deep to get it. It took months to gather all that he needed, Vala breathing down his neck the entire time, but it was finally perfected, his plan finely tuned in every imaginable way. Nothing could wrong, it was impossible and even if the universe turned inside out and something did backfire, he had ten back-ups to counter it.  
  
Spike's grief was a promising source of power just begging to be drained. This was definitely going to be pleasurable. 


	2. It Begins

It was a gorgeous night. The moon was full, the sky was black and all manner of uglies were creeping out to reek havoc on the town of Sunnydale. Spike was as close to heaven as any vampire would ever be able to get. Frustrated with all his pent up energy, the streets having been infuriatingly quiet the last week, Spike was relishing every sound and sensation that accompanied tearing off a demon's head and sending any vampire who crossed him into a cloud of billowing ash.

"This is bloody great!" he shouted to the sky as he retracted his hand and stake from another killing blow. Shrugging the black leather duster back up onto his shoulder, he replaced the weapon down the back of his jeans and continued his walk. His feet, as if bearing their own consciousness, led him to the house of the Slayer; the bane of his existence. The woman he would hand his own head to if she bid it.

"Aw, bloody hell," Spike muttered, looking up at the house as realization of his unwitting location hit him. Standing in the street, he looked up and down the street, seeking inspiration and finding none. He cursed himself for his damn-near pathetic-ness at his situation. He loved her, he was man enough to admit that, but the fact that he was standing in the middle of the night staring forlornly at her house was just, well, pathetic.

Rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger, he froze when he sensed movement behind him. Bringing his arm down slowly, he twisted his body round with stake in hand to confront another creature of the night, this one appearing from between the houses, hulking its bulk towards him. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea Spike thought idly, his body already propelling him forward.

The creature was big to say the least; he guessed about ten-foot, maybe an inch or two taller, and wide. Long arms a muddy green in colour swept at his agile form as he pounced onto its shoulders, raising the slither of wood up above his head preparing to strike, his legs wrapped around the broad neck.

A sudden blast in his back that left the air burning forced him from his perch, hitting the ground hard but rolling up onto his feet in an instant. Spike only got angrier as he realised that whatever it was had burned a smoking hole right through his duster. Snarling, he settled for kicking the demon hard and whirling past it, intent on pounding whatever was shooting energy pulses into a fine powder.

His eyebrows rose in surprise when he found it. About his height, the creature appeared human if it weren't for the solid white eyes it possessed. Dressed in a quality brown suit, he wore a wide-brimmed fedora hat of matching color, which he touched lightly in greeting to the blond vampire. Spike couldn't see where it was shooting the energy blasts from though, however thoroughly he visual analyzed the figure.

He should have remembered the hulking beast behind him; he hadn't kicked it hard enough for it to stay down for long. Cursing at his stupidity, Spike shouted in protest as he was lifted and realised that he was going to be used as a weapon to attack the unmoving man beneath him.

Eyes widening at his body was brought down rapidly, the demon gripping his with both hands about his ankles, Spike braced himself for the impending impact. However none came. Instead, he found himself being suspended slightly above the head of the man by an outstretched hand from the same, an invisible force holding both himself and the demon in place.

With a thin smile, the suited figured touched the sharp cheekbone of the vampire softly, before running light figures down his face, neck and chest, stopping at the tender flesh of his stomach. The man's expression still placid, Spike's was not as those slender fingers suddenly pierced him, digging through flesh as Glory had done so many moths ago, the pain just as intense.

His desperate writhing was restrained when the other, surprisingly strong hand gripped at his throat to hold him still. Then, the man leant forward and placed his mouth at the wound, taking a few drops of the vampire's dark blood into his throat. Apparently satisfied, he released both his hold and his intrusion on Spike's body before walking away calmly, a hand waving calmly in the air as if a passing thought, the force holding the pair still evaporating and Spike's skull connecting with the road with a sickening thud.

Blissful dark invaded his vision before his natural healing abilities kicked in, clearing his brain of the fog that had descended, allowing him to curl and wrench his legs out of the demon's hands. Landing unsteadily, Spike staggered backwards with a hand to his stomach, stemming the blood flowing from the deep wound. The demon lunged at him once more, tackling his down to the pavement, the edge of the path impacting the back of his spine painfully. Swearing loudly, he grasped at the stake only to find that he lost it as quickly as he grabbed it, the demon tearing it out of his grasp before bringing a heavy fist down on his right thigh, an audible snap penetrating the air.

Spike blanched, his body jerking at the pain before he roared in anger and agony, taking the demon's brief distraction of tearing at his flesh and clothing to sink his fangs into its throat. As a rule he never drank from demons; that was pushing it, even for him. Firstly, it was disgusting. Secondly, demons didn't usually have blood, so there was no point, and thirdly, he had never before been pushed to such an act of desperation to just hurt a demon.

It worked though, and the beast released his tattered flesh long enough for Spike to punch it once more in its bony face before twisting its head sharply. The neck made a satisfying snapping sound as he did so, the cloud of light and ash drifting down onto his body after the small explosion that caused it to disintegrate. 

Ragged breathing was all that could be heard for a few seconds as he tried to control the pain his burnt and severed nerves told him he was in. A female voice shouted his name and light footsteps could be heard advancing rapidly on his position. Dawn appeared above his face, hands hovering uncertainly over his form, daring not to touch any part of him lest she harm him further.

"Help me up, Nibblet," he grunted, face contorting as his game face receded. She nodded slightly before gripping his outstretched forearm firmly, heaving him up and instantly placing herself under his arm, hefting the weight off of his bloody leg and onto her. Spike groaned at the wave of fire through his body that the movement caused before they set off at a slow place, all but dragging him back into her house.

It seemed an eternity before they were both inside, Spike collapsing boneless on the couch as Dawn disappeared in search of the overly stocked first-aid kit. She reappeared minutes later, kneeling on the carpet and shifting his injured leg so that it was propped up on the low coffee table, a barely surpressed shout from Spike making her wince.

Cutting at the torn and stained denim from his ankle up, she searched her mind desperately for some topic of conversation that would enable the vampire to stay alert until she could get help, and more importantly to keep his mind of the pain he was undoubtedly in.

"Spike?"

"What?" he answered quickly, tearing at his own shirt to reach the wound in his stomach. The blood-flow had ceased he noted, and the marble skin was already beginning to come together again, leaving what promised to be an impressive scar. 

"Why? What? Um... Can you fly?" Dawn blurted finally, face crinkling when she came to the wound, her hands moving about it cautiously as she continued to cut away the fabric. Once she had reached the up-most of his thigh, she tore open a packet of gauze and began gingerly dabbing at the wound, wanting to clear away as much of the blood before applying a pressure bandage.

Spike's lips quirked as he realised what she was doing, thankful for the distraction she was trying to provide him from the pain. "Yeah Pet. All the Master Vamps can."

Never taking her attention off the wound infront of her, Dawn continued her line of questioning. "Why don't you then? You could've really kicked my sisters' butt if you did before."

Wincing as she pressed once too hard as his flesh, Spike wriggled out of his ruined duster and tore the remains of his shirt from him. He definitely needed to get some air on the burn on his back, to cool it and help his body heal quicker.

"I don't like doing it. Takes a fair bit of concentration and, urgh! I never was too fond of heights."

"Why?" There was no child-like curiosity behind the question, although at any other time there would have been. There was only a grim determination to keep him awake until she could get to a phone and get someone over here.

Spike could feel his body beginning to numb, a tell-tale sign that he was going to fall into a healing sleep, his mind trapped in an unresponsive body until it had healed itself fully. He didn't like to do it often, preferring to still be able to move and defend himself if need be. But whatever that suited man had done to him had caused his body to decide for him that it was going to go into its comatose state.

Dawn prompted him when no answer came, looking up into the dark, half-lidded eyes with concern. His skin was slowly turning a muddy shade of grey-blue, eyes blinking sluggishly.

"Didn't like the thought o' fallin'. Loosing control. Can fly fine, just don' like doing heights."

A low sigh as all air in his body was exhaled before Spike slumped forward, muscles lax and still. Reassuring herself that he was already dead, Dawn finished bandaging his leg before pulling up the phone. It was one of the few times that she wished that she hadn't been left alone in the house.

Tara and Willow were out at the Bronze, a part of their make-up plan and Buffy was at the magic shop picking up a book the Dawn had left there today, one that was urgently needed for tomorrow if she wanted to complete her project and pass her class.

Settling for calling Xander despite his distaste for Spike, she rapidly described what had happened and explained that she needed someone right now to help heft the unmoving body onto a bed. A phone-call to Giles to find out what exactly was happening to Spike was also mentioned as something that wouldn't be a bad idea.

*****

The world was a haze. Blackness nibbled at the edges of his vision and everything else was a blurry smear of colour, as if the artist who had painted it had become frustrated with it's imperfections and ran a cloth across the wet paint. A few long blinks helped sharpen the edges, bring some order to the shapes until it coalesced finally into something recognizable.

Weak and slightly disorientated, Spike shoved himself up against the soft mattress he had been led on, swinging bare feet over the edge and resting his weight into the plush carpet. Standing proved to be a little trickier, but a rolling grumble in the pit of his stomach gave him the strength to rise, his nose catching a scent in the cool air. Blood.

A wry smile as he reached for the warmed blood on the bed-side table, picking up the blood and downing it quickly, feeling his fangs tingle at the sensation of the warm fluid flowing through his mouth, down his throat and into his empty stomach. His stomach, apparently, wasn't as thrilled with the sensation as his mouth was, despite his hunger.

A sensation that he hadn't felt for over a century but still remembered vividly swelled through his being, and a cool hand clamped over his mouth tightly as he pelted out of the bedroom and down the landing. Almost bowling a surprised Buffy over in the process, he dived into the bathroom and proceeded to empty what felt like a weeks' supply of blood from his body. Staggering back seemingly in shock, trembling legs gave way beneath him and Spike landed hard on his rear against the tiled wall.

"Spike?"

Looking up in reaction to the concerned voice, he saw Buffy lowering herself to a crouch beside him. "Hmm, that was kinda unexpected; Giles said that you'd be starved after your nap."

Still in some semblance of shock, Spike nodded slightly before staring at the sink, blood spattered against its edge. He felt terrible; cold to the bone and numb, like everything around him wasn't real. He hated being sick, always had. Of course he'd been excused from the retched sensation of being ill for a long time, which probably was the reason he felt worse this time around.

When he had regained his voice enough to speak, Spike shook his head again and frowned in confusion. "I dunno what happened there, pet. Bet it's got something to do with what the git did to me last night, or the night before. What night is it?"

"Two days after you got your corpse dumped on my bed, that's what night it is. And you nearly scared Dawn to death with that trance thing of yours."

"Yeah, well. Not my fault, is it? Probably had some bad blood the other night; HIV or summut maybe." 

Bracing himself against the wall, Spike slid up until he was standing opposite the Slayer before stepping past her and out of the bathroom. He felt fine now, his stomach no longer rebelling against him. But Buffy did have a point; this was unsettling. Eyes narrowing in thought, he gingerly placed a hand over his stomach where he had been previously impaled. The wound was entirely healed now, but his instincts told him that that had something to do with his uncharacteristic illness. Best to keep that to himself though; his instincts had been wrong before. Rarely. Still, better not to share his thoughts to the scoobies before he dug own to the bottom of this mess.

Review me! I love the encouragement! I'll be posting as I write now, which will be about once a week, or at the very least one a fortnight.


	3. Many Meetings

****

Many Meetings 

Three days after Spike's spell of necessary-starvation, the group had gathered about the table in the backroom of the Magic Box. Obviously this new demon was something to be concerned about, so research into this thing was quite necessary.

"I still don't get why it tasted your blood," Xander exasperated, dropping the book and slumping back in the chair. Spike looked over from where he leaned casually against the wall, a small book in his own hands, having been coaxed into digging through the old-volumes somehow. 

Anya piped up with her usual enthusiasm, the text she had been reading now devoid of all interest. "Maybe he chose you as a potential mate and that was his way of showing it. Different demons have different mating rituals you know."

"Anya?" Buffy queried, joining the rest of the group in giving the ex-demon their undivided attention, which she seemed immensely pleased about. 

Slight shoulders shrugged. "Everyone knows that Vampires are bisexual, and they are well sought after as mates because of that very fact and their legendary stamina. Seems like a logical conclusion to me."

"Thank you dear for that wonderful titbit of information," Xander said, shaking his head and lowering his eyes back down to the book with new-found interest.

Slightly dumbstruck at that enlightening speech, Buffy turned her gaze to Spike who appeared quite unfazed. If anything he looked smug, a slight smirk tweaking his mouth and the scarred eyebrow raised cockily. 

"I'm not even gonna ask."

"Y'sure pet? Got a few interesting tales to be told," he said smoothly, almost wistfully. When all he received was a long stare and then a turned back, he sigh heavily and tossed the book onto the steadily growing pile on the table. 

The sun was almost down and there was a heavy overcast, so walking outside without a blanket was safe enough. Slipping out of the shop silently, he noted that they hadn't even acknowledged his exit. Unsurprising; they didn't really care about him, or what happened to him. Well maybe Willow did, but otherwise the only reason they were doing all this research was because that, 'thing' had attacked him just outside Buffy's home. No, they'd probably be glad that he was out of their hair if he had been killed. He wasn't happy with the idea that that bothered him, so he turned his mind to what had been plaguing him for most of the day.

In over a hundred years of unlife, Spike had learnt through various lessons, most painful in making their points, that he shouldn't lie to himself. Others, hell yes, but himself, never. And if he was honest, he felt 'off'. Not 'off' in a huge sense of the word like he'd lost a limb or swallowed some holy water, just not quite himself. He felt, heavier, would be a word to describe it. That stupid suited, something, had put something in him and he wanted it out. Now.

Spike growled in frustration as his train of thought came right back round to where it had been several hours ago. Rubbing his eyelids as he stood outside the shop door, he decided that the best way to get his mind off of this was to beat something to a messy pulp, watch it for a few minutes, and then kill it. He had been getting creative these past few nights; feeling unsettled always kicked his imaginative streak into overdrive for some reason. 

He remembered when he and Drusilla had been country hopping during the Second World War. England was being bombed at the time and he wasn't at all happy about it; he'd been born, raised and 'killed' in England, and he'd have been damned if he let some royal twat reduce it to rubble. He had some fond memories of when they had stayed in abandoned hotel somewhere outside London for a while, the Nazi's using it as a post for their soldiers. He could still remember the screams as he stalked them in the locked down building in the pitch black, killing each one differently, but loud enough so that every other creature in the hotel would hear it, and tremble. That eased a lot of the tension he gathered in his body and mind at the sight of his homeland being bombed.

Smiling to himself, Spike dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it with his boot, before leaving the smoldering ashes behind him as he stalked away, every inch the predator. A feral grin decorated his features as he went off in search of a playmate, urging darkness forth so that the beasties could come out and play.

*****

This one was old, which was always something to take pleasure in. The older they were, the more experienced they were, and the more memories they possessed. This one had been strong; the blood of two slayers carried through its dead veins, along with a million other individuals. The Vampire must have felt euphoric feasting off those two though. It was weaker now, something he knew when he first set eyes on the creature.

Blood could tell so many stories. Everything a Vampire did was engraved in its blood. This one had something wrong with it, and even if Deparis hadn't known that before hand, he would've learned exactly what it was the minute the crimson fluid touched his tongue. Someone had stuck a little gadget in the creature's head, a tiny little thing that sent shivers of electricity and metal through the blood, only the merest traces, but enough to be perceptible by the experienced.

Experienced. That was what Deparis thought of himself as. And why not? He was old enough and feared enough. He excelled in the art of torture, always seeking new challenges, new methods; something to make existence a little more exciting. He was a Master of creating his own excitement now.

A thin smile on cold lips as Deparis scolded himself mentally. He had been rambling again, something he often did when he was collecting his equipment. His hands knew the work, remembered what instrument went where and which parts not to touch; his mind had very little input at this stage in the operation. His bag was packed now, fingers running over the well-broken soft leather as he closed the clasps securely at the top. 

Slipping a thumb under the handle at the top of the bag, he lifted the weight easily and started for the door of the building he had set himself up in. He did, after all, need a place to organize and store all his toys, and though this was not his first choice of accommodation, it served his purposes well. 

Slipping the key into one of the deep pockets of his trench-coat, Deparis made his way though the building quickly, giving the woman at the desk a friendly smile as he passed. It was dark now, the sensible adults scuttling to their homes and the whores taking their places and poses for a night's work. Brushing through the heavy glass doors of the 5-star hotel, Deparis disappeared into the cold security of the night.

*****

Spike nearly tore the thick door off its hinges as he stormed into the club, slipping easily through the gap in the demon crowd that his entrance had granted him. Moving straight to the bar, he barely acknowledged the glass of blood that was placed in front of him by the female waitress. Sniffing lightly, he noted that it was English and took a sip before leaning back in the stool and surveying the room.

This was a popular place for demons, Vampires, Werewolves and such to unwind from a night of killing or otherwise. Light flickered over the crowd from the high ceiling, tables stationed on wide walkways on the open second floor. The bar ran straight down the middle, the storeroom at the very end out the back. He wasn't here for the hospitality; he was searching for a friend who could usually be found at this place. Well, he couldn't really search for this particular mate; he just had to wait to be found.

It had been slow night; only three Vampires had dared cross his path and not a single demon was out. He'd had a little fun at least; one fledgling Vampire was staked to the ground in the car-crushing yard, waiting to greet the dawn. Another had been nailed upside-down through the ankles to one of the higher branches of an elm-tree. That one would take a little longer to get picked off; the trees surrounding it would create dappled shadows over its writhing form until midday. All in all, Spike was quite pleased with himself; he hadn't lost his creative touch over the years.

A tall, thickset creature by the name of Hi'Frek caught his attention across the room, right hand raised palm facing inwards, a silent greeting. Spike returned the gesture; Hi'Frek was one of his few close friends, and a powerful demon at that. The black eyes watching his turned blue for a brief second and it took Spike a moment to remember the meaning of that particular sign. He had long ago become well versed in the body-language and signs of various creatures, but he hadn't seen that one in some time, 'Need help?'

Snarling internally at his poor outward facade of disdain and general normalcy, he raised his left hand and waved it quickly infront of his eyes; 'I'm looking for someone.'

A nod and quick apologetic gesture at having presumed that something was wrong before the left hand was raised, the index finger making a quick circle in the air before tapping at a temple and then the armor that would have shielded his heart, if he had one. 'Anyone I know?'

Spike tipped his head in thought; he honestly didn't know if Hi'Frek knew this particular friend of his. It was unlikely; he usually kept to himself and slipped by unnoticed in his own extreme way. Shaking his head, he tapped the back of his right wrist and then his own temple. 'No, but I'm expecting him soon.'

Satisfied, Hi'Frek made a quick cross in the air before thumping his non-existent heart. 'Don't get dusted'. Turning his bulk, he then made his way out of the club and back out into the concealed street.

Turning back to the bar, Spike took another drink from the thick glass and sat watching the servers bustling back and forth behind the metal serving platform for several minutes, waiting with patience of a hunter, although this time it wasn't for prey.

As if on cue, Spike sensed the presence behind and to the left of him, the feeling that would usually raise the hairs on his nape. "Long time no see," he murmured without turning, toying idly with the glass in his hands, watching the blood swirl in little eddies, staining the sides.

A laugh and then the empty stool next to him moved, rotating to face him. There was a shimmer in the air there before the demon could be seen, watching him with a bright smile, eyes twinkling with amusement. "That's a little flat, Spike. I'd of thought with all the time you've sat there moping you could've come up with something a bit wittier. The old ones do get tiresome, I find."

"Still, I haven't crossed your path for a few weeks. Where've you been keeping yourself Chem?"

Chem perked up at that, undoubtedly seeing it as a wonderful opportunity to spin an exotic tale. An inch or so taller than Spike, they were of similar build, bodies honed to near perfection, but a glaring difference between them made it easy to identify one from the other even in the dead of night. Chem had what some would call 'a colorful spirit', and as such, he tended to reflect that character trait in his hair. Electric blue, it seemed to defy gravity in its many spikes and curls projecting from all angles. 

Otherwise looking like a normal human, his face held a wisdom that allowed him to find humour in nearly everything. He had encountered just about everything worth being serious about, which left him in a good position of being able to enjoy life. He delighted in collecting information and tormenting others whom needed such information, and adored telling stories of his travels, half-truths and boldface lies. Remarkably enough, the truths tended to be more interesting and exciting that the fiction he spun. 

"Ah," Chem sighed wistfully, eyes staring off in recollection. "Well, I have just returned from a brief excursion to Canada actually. A delightful rumor has been going around that a new hell-bitch is getting a little full of herself, planning world domination and the such, and I desired to ensure that she didn't pose a direct threat to my immediate existence. After the Glorificus incident, I am finding these power-hungry women a tad irritating. Still, she is not exactly the brightest star in the heavens, so she herself is not a direct threat. Your newest lackey is a tad more concerning though."

Intrigued, Spike propped an elbow on the bar and rested his weight against it. "Would this 'lackey' be dressed like a Godfather film?"

A slender brow rose in amused surprise. "Why yes as a matter of fact. Goes by Deparis, anagram of despair you know, very clever. Anyway, this little demon has started snooping around the Hell-Mouth on some errand or other. No-one knows much about what he's doing here or why, but the general message is to stay away from him at all costs. He is one of the few creatures in this world who even I wouldn't toy with," Chem warned, leaning forward in the stool with burning eyes, intent on getting the message across.

"Thanks for the heads up, but I've already met him. Got on real nice, we did," Spike replied ironically, downing the rest of his blood quickly.

"I am truly sorry to hear that, an unfortunate occurrence I'm sure. Is that why you are here; to seek my assistance, or my knowledge perhaps?"

"Just came for the information and the drink, I don't need any help. I'll just make a point of not pissing this one off."

"That would be most wise. And would this be the only 'bad' demon that you will not have 'pissed off'?. You do have a habit of making some aggressive enemies. Speaking of which, how goes the Slayer? I've heard that she's been 'off' recently, although I am not overly dismayed to hear it, I believe that you might have been."

Chem was leaning close to him now, ensuring that only the two of them could hear the end of that sentence, despite the supernatural hearing of most of the creatures around them.

Spike glowered at him, unsurprised that Chem had figured out his feelings for the Slayer; he had an innate talent for discovering such things, even if they were supposed to be left undiscovered. Chem backed off instantly though, hands raised in the universal sign of surrender, the smile still playing across his lips.

"I shall 'keep my ear to the ground' as they say. If you require my assistance again in the near future, or perhaps a good bottle of London blood, you should be able to find me here, or rather, I'll find you."

The air shimmered again and Spike sat opposite an empty stool, which spun violently before a loud clanging could be heard. Watching nothing, he tracked the sounds of Chem making his way across the underside of the metal walkway several feet above him before shoving away from his own stool. Dawn was only an hour or so away; he needed to get back to his crypt.

There was no moon out tonight, so he walked in almost complete darkness down the alleys. About halfway to the cemetery, he stopped dead, hackles prickled and a cold feeling swimming through the sixth sense that had enabled him to survive for so long. It was a dead-end ally; he had planned to jump the wall at the end and effectively halve the remaining distance back to his crypt. Sniffing the air, he felt a peculiar feeling upon recognizing the smell.

Cold dread.

Turning to face the intruder into his personal space, Spike saw a familiar shape silhouetted against the dim light at the opening of the ally. The trench coat was still despite the chilled breeze and the hat was sat at the same precise angle on his head. The eyes glowed, illuminating the thin face into an almost skull-like appearance.

"Hello precious."

*****


	4. Bloody Crosses

****

Bloody Crosses

Spike cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Deparis, right?"

The figure seemed to smile, hands clasped behind his back as he stepped forward towards the Vampire. The eyes narrowed, the shape of the twin lights changing to show the movement as a hand flickered briefly from behind his back. Spike growled in frustration as he felt a familiar force envelope him, immobilizing every muscle and leaving his senses hyper-aware. That was probably intentional; the more sensitive a creature was, the easier it was to cause it infinite levels of pain.

Deparis walked towards him, no hint of a stalk in his step as he moved, which Spike found remarkably unsettling. He had no idea of exactly what he was dealing with here. Rather than attack him, the demon surprised him by crouching at his feet, placing a cold hand against the cool spot where he had previously drunk from. 

Spike flinched involuntarily at the movement though the creature paid no notice, seemingly interested in that spot on his abdomen. He felt his shirt being lifted, the skin-tight material bunching beneath his rib as it was pushed away. The fingers probed at his flesh inquisitively before the hand pulled back and played across his side, the longest of the thin fingers pushing down firmly beside his navel. 

"Good precious."

He barely heard the words uttered seemingly at his stomach, but he noticed the burning sensation building beneath the hand all too well. After a minute it was unbearable and he screamed his fury and pain into the night for any creature to hear. A pinprick in the side of his throat was his reward, all interest in his stomach lost as Deparis stroked the soft flesh around the needle. Spike watched the white eyes steadily; this petting was severely off-putting and concerning, as was the fact that he couldn't see what the contents of that syringe was.

He found out quickly enough though, the plunger going down and his skin sizzling as the contents were expelled into his body. Spike burned on the inside, the sensation travelling through him rapidly. Smoke was rising from the point of entry, open now as the needle was pulled away and pocketed. Deparis stood toe-to-toe with him, watching his face intently, memorizing every twitch that he was causing.

Holy water. Spike identified it as holy water, and he seemed to feel worse at the realization. It was reacting quickly though, and it would soon be gone, leaving him significantly damaged internally and severely weakened against this enemy.

As the remains of the liquid fizzled and burned away, Deparis smiled warmly and patted the exposed flesh of his stomach lightly, never taking his eyes from Spike's, now dark with pain and near-exhaustion.

"Like that, don't you precious?" 

Another cold whisper into the night air, a muttering that Spike sincerely wished he couldn't hear, trembling despite himself in pain, confusion and downright fear. Chen had been right; he should've just run rather than piss around with this one.

Feeling the force securing him tighten its hold, he found himself lifted and tipped backwards, now staring at the clouds between the buildings creating the ally. The sky was brightening, some intact part of his mind noted absently. His eyes widened minutely at that thought. 

The clouds started moving then, and the buildings, at a steady pace as Deparis lead them forward. They walked for several minutes, Spike urging his body to heal the injuries the holy water had dealt him, Deparis humming softly to himself as he walked. They had stopped once at the end of the ally when he had collected his bag from the shadows, and now they stopped again, this time in a familiar street. Still staring up, Spike saw the tall building to his right and realized that someone he knew lived there, but he couldn't remember through the pain-filled haze that had descended upon his mind. Finally, as Deparis was contemplating the many stories in the brightening light, he remembered and was more confused than before.

The whelp?

*****

Deparis' smile grew larger as he returned to the Vampire. He was starting to smoke a little now, singed at the edges as the first light of dawn nibbled at his frozen form. He couldn't have that though; it would take away all the fun if he just allowed the Vampire to ignite and burn to nothing. Granted, it would be an enjoyable scene, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

He had hoped to do this outside, but the Vampire's unexpected delay meant that he could not perform this act outside the Magic Box as he planned. It was necessary to keep it alive, which meant that it needed to be discovered and 'assisted'. Deparis had researched the entire group that this animal was friendly with, naturally, and this building was the closest that housed one of those friends. Granted, they weren't good friends, but he had observed a small level of potential compassion between them and the ex-demon would likely aid the Vampire when he was through with it.

Standing next to it now, he stared up at the desired window and raised them both, hands palm-up as he motioned them higher. Waving open the glass-panes, Deparis brought them both inside the spacious bed-room and abruptly released his hold on the creature. It dropped to the carpet heavily, still for only a second before straining to stand against him. An admirable effort, utterly foolish, but admirable still.

His style changed abruptly now, gripping the throat of he beast and hefting it to its feet before shoving it back against the wall, holding it there as it groaned at the pain. Its face was deformed now, some strength left in it as the eyes turned golden and the brow furrowed. He would have loved to run his hand over those bumps of hard flesh, perhaps see if the colour of the fluid inside those golden orbs changed colour too, but he had to put his task before his curiosity.

Calling his bag to his side, Deparis held the creature still with a quick hand motion before clicking it open. So many choices in those black depths, now illuminated slightly by the dawn that pressed through the curtains. Another absent motion and they closed completely, granting the Vampire some small measure of mercy. That would be taken back in direct order.

Finally making a decision, Deparis pulled out two thick stakes, each heavy even to his own hands. As long as a standard wooden one, these were made of silver of a specific concentration and honed to a point so sharp it could only be achieved and maintained by magic. It had taken him some time to produce these particular weapons, having to analysis the specimen in great depth to find the optimum concentration of silver; enough to cause damage and agony, but not too much so as to allow it to see another night.

Smoothing the material of its black shirt, he placed the first stakes' point above and to the right of its unbeating heart, adjusting the positioning minutely before he was completely satisfied. Staring intently at that spot, Deparis brought the stake back and slammed it forward again, driving through cloth, skin flesh, bone and wall. The shoulder-blade didn't break entirely, which he was pleased about. Rather it was 'drilled', penetrated by the sharp point and now trapped about the silver.

The animal voiced its disapproval at the action loudly, bellowing loud enough to waken anything in a two block radius. He'd have to put a stop to that noise, he thought, frowning at the pale face. Touching the throat briefly, he waited until the channels inside were completely stilled before smoothing the other side of the shirt.

The second stake went through without incident, a spasm running through the creature but no noise was made. Twitching a hand slightly, Deparis relinquished his hold on the body and let the stakes keep it standing. No weight was being put onto the shaking legs, now damp with blood, and he was secretly glad that he had chosen the thickest stakes, the ones strong enough to hold its weight.

Its arms were useless now, but his precious was still hungry. Procuring a third, thinner stake from the bag, Deparis lifted a heavily muscled arm up and out, holding it by the hand as he turned the palm outwards. Puncturing the wrist was easier than going through the shoulders, the stake holding the arm up as he released the hand, satisfied with the amount of blood trickling down the once beige wall. 

He marveled at the body before him; it had once been a killing machine, every muscle, thought and action one honed to that of a predator, the compact body moving like liquid in battle and the mind calculating its prey hungrily, accurately before it feasted. Now it looked weak, drawn, pathetic. How large a change could come in a short hour amazed him, pleased him and at some level excited him. He had incited this change, the creature was bowing to his power over it, its body being molded, albeit slowly, to his purposes, and it was almost completely unaware of the changes.

Lifting the other arm, Deparis dealt the stake through it quickly and returned to regarding the animal silently. He had done a good job tonight, worked well. He could sense it in the other body, could see it in the flickering aura. The silver was bleeding through its veins as expected now, and he removed his hold on its throat, letting it gasp and croak at the pain, watching it struggle to stand and ease the weight off the stakes, remove the pressure from his burning flesh.

A callused hand ran almost lovingly over the pale face of the struggling vampire, the harsh breathing escaping its lips merely an outlet, a control mechanism for the pain he was feeling. Deparis's sleek fingers, nimble and well versed in the bodies of all manner of creatures, continued down the chiseled cheekbone, the sculptured jaw, the soft throat. 

He paused beneath its jaw, a definite flash of fear briefly visible in the eyes of the demon when their eyes met. Lifting the head was easy; the vampire had no strength left to offer resistance. With his free hand, he produced the one remaining stake from the bag; sleek and deadly thin like the pair through his wrists, the dim light casting stripes of black and white across its silver surface.

A pause when the stake was over his shoulder, before the weapon was thrust forward at an impossible speed, puncturing skin and crushing jugular with ease. A wet, strangled sound was coughed from the pale lips, the eyes wide and stunned before the silver started to seep slowly through its body, the pupils shrinking then and rolling to stare into the skull they were held in.

Deparis dipped a thumb in the animal's blood, the dark fluid standing out starkly against the white skin, brushing the damp extremity across the smooth forehead. A simple cross above the nose, a mocking symbol left to dry as he departed.

Stepping back, he tipped his head to the side as if admiring his handiwork, before he touched the brim of his hat with a curled finger and a thin smile before stepping out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

*****

Xander was first to step into the room, Anya knocking into him when he stopped dead in the doorway. He gaped openly at the dark fluid staining the plush carpet, dribbling in thick, viscous torrents down the wall the man was suspended from.

Hung like a demonic Christ, the stake penetrating his throat forced Spike's skull up to make blank eyes stare at the ceiling. His entire body was lax, exhaustion having long ago taken its toll, and their first move was to lift him and ease the pressure of his weight from the stakes.

"Anya, call Giles, now," Xander said, lifting Spike's legs up with one hand and pulling the stakes from his wrists with a sickening wrench with the other. Anya nodded feverantly before dashing back out, her smooth face pale with shock at the scene she had just witnessed.

Once Spike was free from the remaining stake in his right shoulder, he slumped forward lifelessly into Xander's arms, his jumper now coated in the demon's blood. Amazingly, the creature was still conscious; eyes staring as if drugged upwards clicked to his face, acknowledging him. He coughed around his destroyed throat, sending more blood spurting from his already soaked lips.

"Alright Spike, buddy, just stay with me until Giles gets here, okay?" Xander muttered barely taking his eyes off the dazed face, hefting the body backward onto the large bed. Anya returned then, bringing with her a knife and a pile of towels. Whilst she mopped at the blood trickling lazily from his wounds, Xander cut through the material of his shirt to get better access, grinning slightly when he heard a noise from the man on the bed, almost a growl of irritation.

The door crashed open on the trio, Giles running in with a first aid kit which he opened on the bed, tearing various items from and handing to Anya who had succeeded in forcing the wounds in Spike's shoulders to cease releasing fluid. It took a few minutes to bandage everything that was bleeding, but it took a lot longer to figure out how to replenish the reservoir of blood the Vampire had previously held in his body. It was vital to get the fluid into his body, and after some debate, Giles ended up forcing a piece of tubing down Spike's wrecked throat and into his stomach, literally pouring the blood into him.

Xander, feeling the profound urge to retch, had left the room and gone outside. He felt his heart contract painfully in surprise and fear when he looked up though, seeing the man attached to the ceiling of the corridor. Hair a colour that even Oz wouldn't touch, the demon was scuttling unsettlingly fast on his hands and ankles, stomach brushing the plaster lightly as he moved.

Stopping outside the door, he released his hold and dropped neatly to his feet infront of Xander. He seemed to recognize the human, flashing him a quick smile before sliding past him and into the room. Xander found himself blinking in shock at the creatures' audacity, and travelling skills, before hastily following. He could hear the voices before he got back to the bed.

"Who the hell are you?" Giles asked loudly, moving to stand between the injured Vampire and the visiting demon.

Chem sighed in exasperation, but forced a friendly smile. "My name is Chem and I am a good friend of the Vampire whom you are so thoroughly protecting. I have come to ensure his well-being."

Anya snorted at that. "Well, I'd say that it was pretty obvious what his state of 'well-being' is."

His eyes narrowed minutely. "I am aware of that; I was there during the attack, unseen of course."

"And you didn't help him? He was left there to die! If Anya and Xander hadn't returned then he-"

Chen held up a silencing hand, interrupting the furious man without hesitation. "If I had indeed intervened, I would have undoubtedly been killed, and I would not be of much help to Spike if that were the case. It is obvious that Deparis wanted Spike alive, otherwise he would have cast him into the sun or done something equally lethal. In anycase, when his attacker left, I followed in hopes of discerning exactly what he was doing, or at least where he was staying. I could not pursue him for long before he sensed my presence, and I was forced to return here or have my head removed like the lid off an aspirin bottle, which is an experience I have no intention of going through quite yet."

"Fine, but why Spike? Why do, this? Why not just kill him if he's being such a pain in the ass to this Deparis?" Xander asked, gesturing with his hands to the now unconscious man on the bed.

Chem regarded him with grim determination. "That is what I intend to find out."

*****

I am evil for these '...' endings, aren't I? Thank you all for the great reviews, very encouraging as you can tell! (Two chapters in two days, a record). Keep 'em coming and let me know how I'm doing. Some opinions on Chem would be good too, for future use...


	5. Chem

****

Chem 

Chem had quickly removed all occupants from the room through sheer insistence, save for himself and Spike. Free to act as he chose now, the demon moved to the edge of the bed, stepping backwards up the wall and sitting on his haunches, gazing down at the wounded Vampire as he settled his arm over his lap. Reaching his right arm down, he lightly placed his index and forefinger against the damp temple and closed his own eyes in concentration. When the link had been established, and was strong enough to be maintained without direct contact, he withdrew and intertwined his fingers over his knees.

/I must confess Spike, your mind has changed little over the years since I have last been here/ he sent across the connection, listening through the mental 'static' intently for a response.

The body didn't move, but the mind, albeit slowly, began to pull itself together enough to make a coherent response. It took a few minutes, but the reply was strong through the link and in the characteristic tones of the Vampire's voice, both of which brought immense relief to the demon.

/What're you doing 'ere? /

A humourless chuckle. /I sought to stay in your company after you left the club to ensure that you heeded my warning, which, to my recollection, you did not. I witnessed the assault, from the point where the window was closed onward, unseen of course. I then left to follow Deparis, hoping to discern what his intentions were, or at least where he has been hiding himself during the treacherous hours between dawn and dusk. I have found nothing on the latter, but I have a theory on the former. /

/And what might that be? /

/I believe he is attracted to you. After all, you are fetching enough to be desirous as a potential mate, and he did seem quite intent on stroking your skin as much as possible. Tell me Spike, have you been sending him any signals that might indicate that you are interested in him, or is there already something that I am as of yet unaware of? /

Spike growled internally at Chem's ramblings. He was in no mood to tolerate the demon's habit of talking in spirals, closer to the truth on every pass but not enough to tell him what he wanted, needed to know, until he chose to reveal it. His body exhausted, he felt angry, frustrated and humiliated. He was a Master Vampire for Christ's sake! And yet, he could not remember offering any real resistance against his assailant. He should have been able to break free, snap that smug little head off, and then skip merrily through Sunnydale displaying it proudly on one of those damned spikes.

Still, whenever Chem had information of any description, it was usually worth knowing. Feeling even more defeated but too tired to care further, Spike decided to at least humour him.

/I reckon he's in love with me. You only hurt the ones you love, right? /

A moment of silence, then a softer reply. /Indeed. And as I love this extremely skilled individual so much, it would give me great pleasure to engage him in this game of his that he seems to so thoroughly excel at. Perhaps he would allow me to strip off his skin in single one-inch strips and have him bathe in a vat of boiling iodine. A worthwhile pursuit, wouldn't you say? /

/Yeah, well, you can go off and skin Mr. Precious as slowly as you like. Don't exactly feel up to another round of torture just yet. /

/Hmmm. I can wait. Concerning his intentions towards you, which seems to border on obsession, I believe that the cause of his fascination is due to something you alone posses. /

/What the hell are you yammering on about? / 

/I'd like to examine you and see if I can find exactly what this amiable fellow is after. It will cause you no further discomfort, I need only ask of your permission. /

There was a period of silence as Spike turned the idea over in his head. /You're bloody lucky I trust you. /

/I am afraid I'm going to need you to say it, that you have granted me permission that is. /

/What? Yeah fine. You have my permission to do your mojo. That alright? /

/I'm sure that will suffice. /

Releasing his hold on the Vampire's consciousness, Chem blinked and flinched at the sensation of being isolated in his body once more before stepping down from the wall. Considering the prone form on the bed critically, he reached out a hand and ran it across the bare expanse of the pale chest, moving down the body and feeling for any sign that something was amiss.

Stopping just above the navel, Chem recalled the earlier actions of Deparis and slowly moved his hand to the side, fingers sliding across the cool marble flesh, ceasing their travels a few inches before striking the prominent right hipbone. There, just beneath the pale skin he could feel an almost electrical thrumming, an energy fluctuation so slight that it took immense concentration just to hold onto that whisper of feeling.

Fingers splayed over that area now, Chem quieted his mind and closed dark eyes as he sunk into that feeling. In his mind's eye he saw himself pushing through that barrier of flesh, the particles parting easily at the will of the body. Through skin and muscle, he weaved through the electrical conduits of nerves burning blue fire of abuse, and veins carrying blood sluggish with agony and drugs. 

But there, nestled amongst the dead organs in the cool interior, was something that definitely did not belong. A bright mass of energy lay shimmering rhythmically in the dark, tendrils of itself spewed out and attached to the host it resided in. It was growing minutely, the colours within its substance darkening as its density increased; a swirl of burgundy amongst the crimson that dispersed and dissipated in a hypnotic cycle as it bulged and contracted.

Deciding that this entity was certainly something he would not tolerate if it were growing within his own body, Chem extended a sliver of his own energy against it with the intention of either obliterating it or at least detaching it from the host. The backlash caused his head to reel and nose to bleed, his head snapping back as if struck by the force of it. Retreating hastily, he pulled himself back from the body and drew his hand to himself, bringing a hand up to his nose curiously.

Giving the purple smear on his finger the barest of acknowledgements, Chem looked to the bed and was relieved to see that Spike had been spared any feeling of the confrontation that was sure to leave him with a considerable headache for the next few days. It disconcerted him; he had rarely come into contact with something possessing such strong psychic energy as to cause him that much pain upon interference. He had an idea of what it was, and after a moment grudgingly accepted that he did, in fact, know exactly what it was.

However loath he was to admit it.

*****

They had left Spike alone at Xander and Anya's apartment, the Witches having cast a variety of spells about it to ensure that the Vampire was indeed safe. He had slipped into another healing sleep, this once slightly unstable because of his body's considerably weakened state. It was vital that he be completely undisturbed less they inadvertently cause further damage.

Chem, having insisted that Spike be left entirely alone for at least a few hours, now sat calmly against the wall of the backroom in the Magic Box. He had not revealed his snippet of information just yet, nor did he plan to, as they seemed rather more intent on learning every iota of information concerning him. He laughed inwardly. Stupid mortals.

"Well what is it?" Anya asked with her usual directness, slightly perturbed that they had encountered a demon about which she knew absolutely nothing about. He knew about her though; anything information worth knowing always did pass through him at some point. She and the Slayer were the only ones he knew a fair amount about, but some hasty introductions had been made allowing him to identify every face that was currently watching him as if he were planning to slaughter the pack of them. Not that he was thinking of such a thing. They were a nice group in their own, quaint little way.

Giles sighed heavily and removed his glasses for the second time in five minutes to polish the already impeccable lenses, his gaze rising after a moment to Chem who was positioned across from him.

The Watched stepped around the table until he was only a few feet from him, amused eyes watching his every movement intently. "He's a Kharmala Demon I believe. Very rare. I've only read about them in the oldest texts we have here in the shop, and even then there were only the smallest descriptions and references."

Turning to address the entire group, he continued. "They possess the ability to attach themselves to almost any surface and can alter their outward appearance to match that of their environment."

"Like camouflage?" Xander piped with a glance to Chem, seeing the eyes click to him when he spoke.

"An extremely advanced type but yes. That would explain why they are almost unheard of."

Chem smiled at the human. "My kind prefers to be seen as a myth, and only that. By nature we live quietly. It makes it so much easier to gather knowledge and obtain worthwhile friends."

"Like Spike?" Buffy asked with some measure of disbelief. The demon was irritating her with his smooth tones and easy posture.

"Like Spike," he confirmed. "I have had the pleasure of his acquaintance for some years. He wished to obtain details of the whereabouts of a particularly wondrous trinket for his Drusilla, from a particularly nasty demon who knew of its location. The demon was proving quite stubborn about releasing that knowledge to him and he requested my help."

"What-what did you do?" Tara asked slowly, a sickening curiosity as to what exactly this creature's skills were. 

A smooth smile, slow and easy, slicked Chem's lips. "I made it desire to greet its end most vocally, and it told us the location of the jewel loud enough for the entire mountainside to hear. Spike was suitably impressed with my talents and we have been friends ever since."

"Bonding over blood. How nice," Willow commented lightly to break the heavy veil that had descended over the group, all staring with horror and disgust at Chem, amazed that he could talk so easily, even fondly of that event.

Chem snapped his attention to the Witch, his interest perking at seeing the power leaking off of her aura in waves, as could be said of her partner. Scanning eyes over the entire group he began to see how Spike could tolerate them, maybe even like them. The young human male was irritating, but loyal to the group and he respected that. The Slayer was attractive in his eyes, and he could almost taste her strength from where he perched. 

They cared about Spike as much as they cared about their furniture; it served a purpose and they were used to having it around. They would probably miss it if it were gone, but otherwise they moved around it comfortably, barely acknowledging it. Perhaps it was enough; he couldn't be sure at this point.

The group cared about this world though, and their insignificant place in the universe. It would be quite entertaining to watch them save it, which he was sure they could do. He had not been around when they had confronted Glory, only having seen the damage echoing across the horizon. But he knew when she had been defeated. The Slayer had sacrificed herself for the sake of this world and a million others. If they could defeat an insane hell-god and come through the trauma of loss and resurrection intact, then they should be able to combat this new evil.

Sighing as Buffy posed another question to him, one that he swiftly ignored, Chem stepped off the wall so as to gain their attention quickly. This was growing tiresome and time was of the greatest importance for them all. He could further examine them later, explore their backgrounds and characters to see if either contained something worth knowing, something he could use in the future perhaps. 

"I have some information concerning Spike's tormentor that I believe you should know." That definitely got their attention. 

"What?" Buffy prompted after he paused for a few seconds too long.

Chem surpressed a flare of irritation at her outburst. She was too young to truly know the virtues if patience, although her fire was appealing. "His name is Deparis, a rather unsavory character whom I have never had the pleasure of meeting in person, but who I know a fair bit about. He is currently in the employment of Vala, yet another less-than-balanced almighty demon who, being highly original, wishes to destroy the world. She is not worth taking action over, but Deparis most definitely is.

"Through methods which I do not desire to disclose, I have found that he has implanted a demonic life-form into Spike's body which is growing off of his unlife energy."

"What exactly are we dealing with here? Is he possessed? Do we have to kill him?" Buffy questioned standing, a curious note of genuine concern in her voice.

Chem shook his head, eyes closing as he sought to put what he had felt into words capable of relaying the experience. "You don't quite understand my dear. The creature is in a state of infancy, and barely identifiable as more than collection of extremely powerful energy as of yet. I do know what it will develop to be though."

"What?" 

Tara this time. Bloody youths. "A Frisha Demon."

Those three words had the most impact on Giles, the others simply waiting for him to explain. The Watcher had turned a shade paler, eyes widening as he watched Chem for any sign that this information was false, seeing none.

"Oh my God," he breathed, already sensing their impending doom. "You're sure? There's no way that it could be anything else?"

"It came into contact with me and I distinctly remember that, sensation, being almost identical to a similar encounter I had with an older, larger version of itself."

"Oh come on, how bad can it be?" Buffy asked in an attempted light tone.

Chem and Giles exchanged somber, knowing looks before looking back to the young Slayer. "Oh."

****

I'm evil and well aware of this fact. I know this has been a bit of a hiccup in terms of moving the plot along, but I was asked for more information about Chem from an unbelievably great review (thanks guys!) and so I thought that my character warranted some attention and a whisper of a background. It'll get all angsty again next time, you have my word...

I must make an apology in advance regarding considerable delays in the production of this fic in the future. Due to circumstances beyond my control (bloody government) updates will be trickling in. But don't lose faith; I have no intention of letting this fic die. In the meantime, continue to review me because God knows I LOVE the encouragement (which is helpful to write with as all writers know), and hopefully the next chapter will be up soon.


	6. Whispers and Gales

Author note; Firstly, I am officially claiming this fanfic as AU (alternate universe) because I am implanting so many of my own ideas into the background that it is falling away from the information given in the series. This is actually intentional as it surprises readers more (you'll see... ;D) so please refrain from nitpicking along the lines of 'that never happened' and so forth. Secondly, keep reviewing as it is a great encouragement. Thanks!

Lots of conversation in this chapter, but I thought I'd been a little heavy on description as of late and the characters could use a little down-time before I cripple them again. Some insulting of characters, but it's not that I don't like them so no flames; blame Chem. In the meantime enjoy the slower pace; I'm not through with Spike yet. I promise you...

****

Whispers and Hurricanes of the Past

"What the big bad then? In terms that we all understand if you will, rather than shifty glances," Xander said, breaking the silence that had descended upon the group. Glancing at Chem briefly, Giles began to pace, his hands motioning as he spoke.

"Frisha Demons are remarkably rare and incredibly dangerous in the mature state. They hold the capability of turning emotion against a human, or any living creature for that matter, to such an extent that they spontaneously combust. The disturbing part is-"

"Oh, so there's a 'disturbing part'?" Xander interrupted offhandedly. Chem glared at him and he promptly fell quiet.

"As I was saying, the disturbing part is that they do not need to have direct contact with a human to kill them, or even have identified them visually. If powerful enough, one of these things could incinerate every living creature on the face of the planet."

"As you can see, quite an unpleasant creature to have residing in a good friend of mine," Chem added, clasping his hands firmly behind his back. "I know a fair bit about this type of demon, and I can assure you with the up-most confidence and regret that it cannot be removed from Spike's body. To do so would cause the fate that Mr. Giles has just described to descend upon a good many people. This creature's energy when channeled is deadly enough, but as it is now, with no cohesion or direction, to de-stabilize it would have disastrous results."

"So what do we do?" Willow asked, looking between the pair questioningly. Giles shrugged lightly and so all eyes turned back to Chem.

"Fresha demons, as Mr. Giles so intelligently pointed out, wield the power of emotion, a considerable weapon considering the grief you humans seem to put yourselves through. What he neglected to mention is that they also draw strength from feelings, more importantly negative feelings such as anger, sorrow, grief and so forth. The only way to combat them is to relieve the person they are feeding from of these negative emotions, be it by filling them or surrounding them in a sickly cocoon of love and happiness or ending their existence entirely. 

"Deparis has apparently implanted Spike with this infant in the hopes of it growing off of his own 'reservoir', adding a round of torment to ensure that it is feeding nicely."

"But why Spike? Why not a person or some demon with a chip on his shoulder?" Buffy asked for the group, confusion evident on her pretty features.

"My dear, consider how long he has existed on this world? How many things has he done that he might regret, laying aside the customary maiming and killing he is so terribly famous for? And there is the issue of his previous life, where I am sure some truly traumatic events transpired."

"What-what do you mean?" Tara queried with genuine curiosity. 

Chem shook his head slightly with a small smile. "It is not my place to say, nor would I wish to if it were. Now, if you'll excuse me, I will return to the apartment and ensure that Spike is healing appropriately. You may all proceed to research, or consume savory snacks, or whatever it is you do in the middle of the morning."

With that, he turned on his heel and proceeded to stride out of the shop, long legs moving his lithe form quickly. A shimmer of ultramarine flittered over his being before he became translucent, blending skin and material to match his environment. Satisfied now that he was entirely concealed, Chem stepped out into the sunlight and began a brisk walk across town, his shadow betraying his movements as he went.

*****

"Okay, creepy much?" 

Buffy turned surprised eyes to Xander, who sat staring expectantly at the group for a response. "What? Why?"

"Chem. When he was talking and, sticking to the walls, I dunno... He just gives me the heebie-jeebies, and living on the Hell-Mouth I've learned to beware of the heebie-jeebies."

Willow nodded in agreement at his somewhat awkward explanation. "I'm with Xander. That guy is creepy. Did anyone else notice how he kept staring at us, like he was dissecting us with his eyes or nifty telepathic powers."

"Yeah, and isn't it awfully convenient that he turns up roundabout the same time that this Deparis did. And he knows an awful lot about this demon living in Spike. You know what? I reckon they might be working together," he concluded, sitting back in the chair with his arms crossed decisively, an almost challenging expression on his face.

"Well, yes, those are all good points, but we have no real reason to suspect anything of him," Giles pointed out wisely. "However I do believe that we should keep a wary eye on him."

"Don't we always," Buffy muttered as she rose. "I'm gonna talk to him; try to find out his real agenda. Or, you know, beat the snot outta him if I don't like the answer."

"Fine, but do be careful. I 'm not sure if he has any other capabilities that we are unaware of. He may be dangerous."

"Giles," she scolded playfully. "I'm always careful." At his unmoving expression she pouted slightly. "Well, nearly always."

****

Buffy soon discovered, much to her dismay, that hunting down invisible demons was hard. In the end, Chem had found her, calling down from the underside of the metal fire-escape he was attached to.

He had descended the wall quickly and within seconds was stood expectantly before her in the street, head tipped to one side as he observed her silently. She was trying to decide you best to approach him concerning the group's suspicions about him, and her own. He appeared to sense her line of thought, something that Buffy found disconcerting to say the least. What else was there to know about him?

"Please, allow me the pleasure of guessing the prompt behind this unexpected visit. You're friends are concerned that I have a hidden agenda, or that I am indeed Deparis and I also have the ability to alter my form as well as disguise it? Or perhaps they believe that I am working for the man and performing reconnaissance by admitting myself into your assembly? Am I getting warmer?"

Buffy scowled at him before replying in a level tone, "We want to know why you're helping us."

Chem looked taken aback then, overly stunned at the question. "Spike and I are friends, a point that I made obvious mere hours ago. I'm aghast that you would think otherwise."

"Then how come you're in town at almost the exact time this Deparis shows up?"

"Coincidence perhaps? Living on the Hell-Mouth must have you thinking that every nail that snags that pretty jumper of yours is up to something, poor girl. It's understandable; dealing with creatures of the night on a regular basis often has a paranoia effect on those not mentally strong enough to handle it. Now, is there any damning evidence to prove that I am a threat to you and to Spike's well being? Or have you only more speculation and 'gut-feeling' to accuse me with?"

The metaphorical 'tether' we all posses can only take so much abuse before it withers to nothing and snaps. When this happens in Buffy Summer's, who's tether, due to extreme circumstances, is remarkably short, the results can be quite remarkable in itself.

Her hand was around his throat in less than a second, and his booted-feet off the ground in two.

"I swear to God, if you put just one toe out of line, I'll pound you into the ground."

"Was that intended as cause for concern?" he asked, lips pulled into an amused grin as he watched her with sparkling eyes. Quite honestly he couldn't remember the last time he'd been having this much fun.

"It should be." 

"No, I don't think it should." 

"I don't think you're as stupid as you look," Buffy growled, bringing her face forward until she was nose-to-nose with him.

"My dear, no-one could be as stupid as I look," Chem replied with a smile, seemingly not noticing the constricting grip about his throat.

"Someone thinks he's a comedian." 

"Now now, your teeth are showing." 

Sighing in frustration at the complete lack of the response she wanted from the blue-haired demon, Buffy dropped him and stalked away in frustration. Once his feet were back on the ground, Chem merely rubbed at his throat and grinned harder, watching her departing back. This one was a real firecracker, he mused feeling quite pleased.

"You love him, don't you?"

Buffy stopped dead at that question, but quickly masked her hesitation and turned slowly with a small smile to face Chem, who now stood exactly where she had dropped him; at a respectable and safe distance from her, considering where this conversation seemed to be going.

"Now why would you go and say a stupid thing like that? Do you have a death wish?" 

"It is actually quite remarkable how many people ask me that."

"So why the interest in my feelings? Which do not involve a love for Spike by the way."

If anything, his expression brightened at her reply, seeing that this conversation would turn out to be longer than a few sentences. She didn't move as he glided towards her, bright eyes never leaving her face and a small, considering smile played on his lips.

"Madam, I pride myself on my skills as an observer. I can tell a rather disconcerting amount about a person from only watching their body movements and listening to the pitch of their voice when they address someone. You are quite aware that I can do this, and you obviously feel threatened that I will stumble onto something which you so desperately try to hide."

Arms crossed in a subconsciously defiant gesture as Chem took another experimental step forward. "And what might that be?" She regretted the words the second they had left her, knowing that whatever came next was going to be unpleasant.

"That, simply put, you are in love with Spike. It's quite obvious if you know what to look for; pupil dilation and the such."

"I am not in love with Spike," she snapped louder than she had intended. 

Chem's smile didn't falter, although his brow pulled in contemplation as he spoke. "Not yet, granted, but that bud of emotion will soon blossom. You like him enough to stand his presence in extremely close quarters, from what I have heard, and feel concern for him. 

"I also know that with this remarkably unpleasant demon residing in his body he is going to need that to liking save us all. I advise you to at least show some affection for him, without the customary lashing out that you seem to see as necessary in a conversation with Spike; verbally or physically."

"I'll talk to him," she relented, wanting to end the conversation that had taken an uncomfortable and abrupt turn as quickly as possible.

He smiled again, a genuine warm smile that touched his eyes. "That is all I ask." Bowing slightly in thanks, he turned on his heel and made his way back to the wall, scaling it rapidly and shimmering into air as he reached the ledge of the roof. This left a stunned Buffy alone in the road, wondering at exactly how an aggressive confrontation had evolved into this.

Chem watched her go with a good deal of interest. Look back, he mentally told her, watching her intently from where he perched on the rooftop. Look over your shoulder, you know you want to. 

She was almost at the end of the street and reaching the main road when she glanced over her shoulder where he had last been visible, then she was gone. Chem grinned and started walking across the roof in the general direction of home, feeling encouraged and quite pleased with himself. 

****

Chem had stayed with Spike at Xander's apartment, ignoring the barrage of complaints from Anya and stating quite flatly that he couldn't be moved for at least three days. It was in fact four days before the wounds were nothing more than tender, and Spike found that moving his arm only hurt marginally. Assuring them all that he had stocked up Spike's fridge with a weeks supply of human blood, Chem escorted the weakened Vampire home in the dead of night, ensuring that no harm came to him as they walked.

"Ah, crypt-sweet-crypt," he announced cheerfully, opening the door wide and ushering Spike inside. "I took the liberty of recording all the episodes of Passions that you missed whilst you were so unavoidably devoid of consciousness. I thought that you would not be slaying for a few nights while you recuperate, and rather than pacing or performing some other trivial act, you could watch your trashy program."

"Yeah, thanks mate. Always knew just how to pick up a guys spirits, or demon in my case," Spike replied softly, moving about the familiar area as he shrugged out of his duster. His throat was still sore but had rebuilt itself quickly considering that a piece of metal had been rammed through it. Vampire healing really is a marvelous thing he thought idly.

Chem closed the heavy door and followed the Vampire a few paces before sitting against he wall, watching as he dropped lightly into the old chair in front of the television. "And why, may I ask, would your demon be down?"

Spike exhaled heavily, fumbling in his pockets for a cigarette. Snorting with some amusement when he produced a packet sodden with his own blood, he tossed it aside and gratefully received the packet that Chem threw at him. Lighting it and feeling the smoke run down into his cool lungs, he stared at the opposite wall as he sought to answer the question.

Ordinarily he would never voice feelings of this description, but with Chem everything was far from ordinary. The old demon would have it all figured out and summed up within a few hours of being in his presence even if he chose not to reply. But talking to Chem would allow him the chance to get a fresher perspective on his experience, and perhaps quiet his feelings of unrest. And he wouldn't take the piss like any of the Scoobies would. Heck, he thought to himself, even the Slayer would laugh at his unrest.

"I'm bloody embarrassed for a start, mate. Deparis did a number on me good and proper, and I couldn't do a damn thing."

"That's understandable. The restraining field he used is as good an excuse as any to prevent any action on your part. And I don't think you should feel embarrassed; I believe the Slayer's group is actually quite in awe of you."

"How's that?"

"Well, even though you suffered immense injuries you were up and about less than a week later bitching about Anya's house-keeping and glaring at the Wench, which is perfectly reasonable as I have had the misfortune of learning."

"You've had the displeasure of talking to him then?"

"Well, I talked and he interrupted. Cries for attention I daresay. He has become so dependent on the group for companionship, the knowledge that all have something to offer in the fight for light, righteousness and the American way other than him has left him feeling rather threatened. I suspect he feels a yearning to be a more helpful member rather than merely an extra researcher, and has taken it upon himself to be the one who lightheartedly diffuses any discomfort with a pointless quip." He paused, summing up the description into a conclusion. "What a pathetic existence."

"Yeah, we're all real pathetic." Spike was up again now, pacing the length of the crypt as he took long, unnecessary drags of his cigarette, idly noting the way the tip flared brightly when he drew air. "You know what, I'm getting really pissed off about being dependent on Buffy and her groupies. First, I had to rely on them for food when I got this soddin' chip and now I need them to peel me off walls when I get my ass kicked."

Chem remained silent for a moment, turning the exasperated words over in his mind, like a child sucking on a new sweet, as Spike finished the first cigarette and rapidly produced another.

"I believe that there is at least one advantage to you having that 'soddin' chip' in your head. Your beloved Slayer does not fear you any more; you never have to see that look of anxiety in her eyes when she sees you in the shadows as long as you have that chip. I would go so far as to say that it has done you a favor."

Spike stared at the demon with something akin to unhindered amazement, the cigarette now hanging limply from his cool lips. Chem simply stared back expectantly, a smile on his lips that just pushed looking smug, but only just.

Remaining quiet long enough to actually think about what he had said, Spike found he answered without the flare of anger at the demon's audacity he had expected. 

"I suppose you're right about that. I love her, I'm not stupid enough not to know you've gotten that figured out by now."

"I never pinned you as stupid. On the contrary, your intelligence and, how shall I put this? 'Unique qualities', make you one of my favorite associates. You always find a way to surprise me, which I find endearing and extremely refreshing when you have lived as long as I have. For example, I have never known a Vampire who loves as completely and blindly as you, and there is a good chance that I never will again. Well, except for Angel and he is so much of a prat as to be an embarrassment to your kind. You have my sympathies, really."

"What other 'unique qualities' do I have that you find so amusing?"

"Well, your extreme choice of hair colour for one."

"Look who's talking."

"Granted. But you always were serious about looking the part; predator and all that."

"Well, you never took anything seriously."

"Why would I? I require a good deal of amusement to prevent my life from becoming insufferably boring. After all, we will all live and make no real difference in the universe and then die, or exist meaninglessly for eternity to speak of gods and the more unfortunate creatures or the underworld."

"Not Buffy."

"Explain."

"She's the Slayer. She makes a difference every day."

"The exception to the rule perhaps. Now, turning to more important matters such as our impending doom, what are your thoughts?"

Spike stopped his pacing and scuffed out the remains of the cigarette, a hand moving to lightly touch at his side where he was told a demon child was residing, though he couldn't feel it. "I reckon I'll be dead before this thing has a chance to do any damage."

"Why? Are you planning on taking a nice walk across a bonfire or through the sunshine? I must say I am offended that I wasn't invited to your demise."

"I'm not killing myself, dipstick. Not if I don't have to anyway. Buffy'll have done it before the week is out, you just watch. It's the only way to stop this thing from maturing and wiping out half of Sunnydale."

"I don't think she can kill you. Her sister seems quite taken with you and your demise at her hands would create a serious rift between them."

"That's another reason I'm willing to get dusted. I promised the Slayer, Buffy, that I'd protect Dawn until the end of the world. And even if I'm going to end the world that promise still stands and I won't let her down."

"This is exactly what I meant by how you keep on surprising me. It really is a pleasure to be in your presence. Now, I tire of these serious topics. What would you like to do now that you are fully mobile again?"

"Go out and get hammered."

"Excellent. Lead on."

*****

Finally. The animal's retreat was empty and quiet again. No prying eyes to watch him and no one to interfere. Everything was critical now.

Deparis hefted the weight further up on his shoulder from where it had slipped, the moisture making it slick and difficult to hold, but he managed. It was important that this be done well; everything depended on this from here forward and he would hate to see all of his good work fall to waste because of a simple mistake.

The animal's companion had caused him to fall behind schedule, but it had saved its skin by leading them both out to become blinded with alcohol, which would give him time to correct the mistake. 

His Precious was hungry again, he could feel it. Had to feed it. Had to encourage it to grow big and strong, like how mothers told their sons to eat their eggs and milk. Eggs and milk were easy to get though. Dumb animals gave it up without a fight. But his Precious needed something from a stronger animal than that. It was weaker now but it would still need to be broken entirely before his precious could feast. Could a mother present a feast of eggs and milk for her sons to ensure that they grew big and strong?

He jerked his head sharply, breaking his mental ramblings. It was a flaw of his that he was occasionally reminded of. He did it when he was nervous. Not that he should be. Everything was planned. Everything would work. It was going to work.

Releasing his bag to flick his wrist at the door, Deparis readjusted the burden a final time and stepped inside, the door shutting behind him. The dust here was old and dead; it hadn't seen the sun for years. It was a wonderful type of dust, the dirt molding about his shoes as he walked across it, savoring the lifeless quality of the air.

It had nested here, this animal, made a cosy little burrow to hide in when the light came up. Now where to leave his gift? Where would be appropriate? It had to be perfect after all. His Precious would settle for nothing less.

Dropping the large plastic cocoon on the concrete floor, Deparis crouched and undid the zip, careful to avoid snagging anything on the inside. Open now and bearing its contents to him, he stood again and looked about the room for a place to put it. It was a beautiful thing, and a brilliant idea spawned of his own mind. It had been hard to get this tool, so it was imperative that it be used to the best of its ability. It had to be perfect.

Looking up now, his body stilled completely as a small, pleased smile smoothed his thin lips. Perfect.

*****

It was two hours after they had entered the bar that Chem and Spike left it. Chem had stated that he had an appointment in the morning and so could not afford to have his mind entirely devoid of equilibrium, but he was happy to destroy his thought processes with Spike in the future.

Assuring him that he was sober enough to get back to his crypt safely, Spike had walked alone back to the building which he had long ago claimed as 'home'. He sensed something was wrong the second he laid a palm on the door, the hairs on his nape prickling and his stomach tightening at the anticipation of a fight.

Kicking the door open sharply, he found that every candle had been extinguished so that it was pitch black inside, the steps illuminated only by the light of the moon, which silhouetted his form in the doorway. He heard nothing, one of the few senses he could rely on from where he was stood; even his keen vision couldn't penetrate that inky blackness.

Stepping inside now, his instincts screaming warnings still, Spike reached blindly into his back pocket for his lighter, igniting the wick of the candle by the door before kicking it shut behind him. Still keeping an eye on the darkness for an attack, he lit the rest of the small collection of candles by the door until there were enough burning to provide him with enough illumination to see inside clearly.

Something was hanging in the dark, suspended from the ceiling from a cord, or rope, he couldn't quite tell. Spike's throat constricted at the size of the figure; it was so small, bearing the barest features of a girl showing through the drenched, torn dress.

Relieved to see that it was too small to be Dawn, he felt a strange recognition none-the-less. Some demon had to be playing a sick joke on him, trying to scare him. It wouldn't work he decided; he'd seen and caused enough death in his long unlife that nothing really surprised him anymore.

He sniffed the air from his vantage-point at the top of the stairs, the body hanging several meters away, and froze. His eyes widened, mouth agape and a cold lead ball formed in the pit of his stomach. Forcing his body to move, he dragged himself almost unwillingly to it, a hand reaching out to touch it, recoiling immediately when he recognized her.

A choked gasp, then a sob, and he backed away slowly, head shaking in desperate denial.

Catherine.

*****

Seeds of doubt concerning Chem? Just how insane is Deparis? Who exactly is Catherine? I can practically sense the hatred being fired at me from you. Tell me! After all, multiple reviews = the next part as soon as I write it.


	7. Original Sin

Way hay! I have posted! I'm sorry for the considerable delay, and for the one which will follow this chapter but I honestly have no time to write. This chapter came quite unexpectedly, but I was encouraged and because you've all been so loyal and reviewing me (hint), I decided to post. Please stay with me as I have absolutely no inclination to leave this fiction, which will be wrapped up in another two or so chapters. Again, I own nothing recognizable so don't sue, and I don't have a Beta, nor do I want one, so all mistakes are mine. 

Quick warning; I'm still pretty graphic on description here, but that seems to have been well received in previous chapters so no worries. Angsty beginning and some h/c but it'll pick up. I hope you enjoy this after such a long delay. And remember; this fiction is au so don't flame me concerning things that haven't happened. I need to re-write history a bit to make this fiction interesting...

*********************

Original Sin

The first thing that Buffy encountered when she entered the crypt was the stench of death, almost tangible as it hung in a noxious cloud in the room, rolling over her as the outside air drew it forward. The intense assault to her senses, sharpened by her Slayer status, made her gag involuntarily and step backwards, as if hit physically.

It was disconcerting to her; the smell in this familiar environment. She was used to death, or as used to it as one could become, both causing and seeing it. But this was a different kind of smell. It wasn't the sick, almost rancid smell that a demon left with its corpse, nor the more delicate scent of a vampire's ashes immediately after being staked. It wasn't even the drier smell of an old corpse, a smell that lingered faintly even in this crypt, where the skin had long ago shriveled and flaked away from the body, the bones dropping as the flesh gave way.

This was fresh and raw.

The room was only illuminated by the handful of candles beside the door, but her eyes searched the shadows despite the faint lighting. A shock of white to the left and ahead of her caused her to surge forward, but she froze when her eyes adjusted and she could see them both clearly, even in the dim.

Spike sat unmoving against the wall, his legs curled beside him and arms wrapped around the second, smaller figure draped across his lap. His eyes were still and staring blankly at an unknown point on the stone floor to the left and several feet from him, not moving to acknowledge her when she took another cautious step closer.

His arms were wrapped loosely about the small girl in his lap, holding her head to the curve of his throat, tucked beneath his chin. Chestnut hair sprawled across her shoulders, curling slightly down her back. Her face was angular and cheekbones pronounced, even in her youth of about eight years. Half lidded glassy eyes of a dulling blue stared unseeingly into her guardian's neck, and drying lips were slightly parted.

Spike's fore-arms, held behind the girl's back, were colored a deep red that clashed brightly with his pale skin, the open wound between the girl's shoulder blades causing her pretty white dress to be stained as the precious fluid trickled away.

Sitting directly in his line of sight, unsure of what to do, Buffy asked him in a soft voice what had happened, who the little girl was. He didn't respond, his body still as only a corpse could be. Deciding that the body would only hinder, Buffy leant forward to move her from him. When she reached for her though, his arms tightened instantly and low rumble emanated from deep in his chest, his eyes still staring through her.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

The cultured voice through the darkness startled her, her head snapping round quickly to see who had entered the crypt without her knowing. She was only mildly surprised to see Chem standing in the flickering light of the candles beside the open door, which he closed slowly as she watched.

Walking with a fluidity only a hunter could posses, he came to her side and crouched in the dust and grime that coated the floor, staring at the pair with an expression that was tinged with sadness.

"I had hoped it wouldn't come to this."

Chem looked to Buffy almost expectantly before motioning to Spike and the girl. Eyes narrowed fractionally as he regarded her silently before he continued in smooth, quiet tones.

"The young girl in Spike's embrace is called Catherine, and died at age nine some hundred odd years ago. As you can see this kind of preservation is near impossible at present, and was completely unattainable at the time she met her end, poor girl. Deparis has obviously used some kind of portal to retrieve her-"

Chem paused, a hand reaching out to the wound in Catherine's back, ignoring the rumbling from Spike, and retracting his fingers glistening with blood.

"Apparently immediately after she was killed."

"Why?" Buffy asked in a hushed voice, eyes frozen on the pair still.

The demon sighed beside her. "Catherine was Spike's younger sister. Spike caught Drusilla's attention some time before he was turned, and Angelus being the abomination he was wanted to make him as insane as his own Childe before that wonderful day. He only attacked one person though before Drusilla told him to leave William to her own devices, and that happened to be the one person young William loved the most.

"The pair where inseparable, you see? Young William was most upset when he found her. You won't see wounds like this today I imagine. These gashes come from meat hooks which-"

"Just stop it," Buffy said in exasperation, interrupting the trend that Chem was so comfortably beginning to sink into.

"Deparis probably wants this demon growing inside of our dear Vampire's body to be strong when it emerges to reek havoc on, dare I say it, the world. Mental abuse, especially this level, is likely to have that thing feeding quite nicely. From what I can tell it won't remain an infant for much longer."

"What can we do?"

"I've told you already that the only way to defeat this particular demon is to encase it in a suffocating cocoon of love and security. Actually, I would quite imagine that that would kill almost any creature from hell quite effectively. Comfort, would be advisable now, and removing that body from his grasp should be on your to-do list."

*****

Separating Catherine from Spike was fairly straightforward once they pried away his arms, Chem carrying her to the far end of the crypt as Buffy stood over the again motionless Spike contemplating what to do. Biting her lip in consternation, she shifted uncomfortably at his stillness. Spike was never still, always fidgeting, glowering, pouting, complaining, smoking or beating the crap out of something. This motionless creature before her wasn't Spike, and according to Chem she was the one who had to drag Spike back into this empty shell of the man he was. 

Her mind made up, she stepped forward and lowered herself down over him. Kneeling awkwardly over his legs, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed him slightly. 

Her actions having absolutely no affect on the Vampire and wanting to invoke some kind of response, she began moving her hand in slow, soothing circles on his back, like her mother used to do to her when she was restless as a child. After a minute or so of this he flinched slightly but then returned to his catatonic state, stubbornly refusing to be roused again.

"You're going to need to some help with him," Chem mused from behind her, sitting against the wall several feet above the floor. "Perhaps your younger sister could be of use."

Buffy was silent for a moment as she removed herself from Spike before realization hit and she frowned, turning to face him, her voice laced with accusation. "How do you know about Dawn?"

Chem merely smiled. "You should retrieve her whilst I stay here, and ensure that nothing further should transpire that would cause Spike to recede even further into that mind of his."

Nodding slightly, Buffy stood and brushed off her trousers absently before making her way towards the door. Pausing by the door as if to say something before she left, she closed her mouth again and stepped outside, banging the door shut behind her.

Stepping down from the wall, Chem strode over to Spike and crouched down so that he was directly in his line of sight, large pupils fixed unseeingly on his own. Reaching slender hands up to the cool temples, he sent a message into the silence of the Vampire's mind.

//You had better get out of there within the next hour or I'm going to have to pull you out.//

****

Dawn, although subdued after Buffy had relayed Spike's condition and history to her, seemed eager to help in any way that she could. They had moved quickly from their home to the crypt, the Slayer having to consciously slow her pace to allow her sister to keep up. Dawn thought it curious that Buffy seemed so intent on getting to Spike as soon as possible when she spent much of her free time bitching about him, not that she was complaining. From what she had gathered from her hurried descriptions, she wanted to get there quickly too. 

They had remained at the house for only a few minutes, a quick phone call to Willow concerning recent events deemed necessary by Buffy before they left, the witch assuring her that she would gather the group and get to Spike's crypt as quickly as possible.

Chem had excused himself immediately after they returned, stating that he may be able to find someone to help dispose of the demon if their interference with it didn't work. When Buffy protested to his leaving, he countered that he also had some important prior engagements that needed to be kept and promptly left, leaving them staring at the closed door in silence for some time.

Buffy assured Dawn as much as herself that they would be fine, projecting confidence that they could help Spike, whatever that entailed, Dawn agreeing entirely. However, the younger Summers faltered when she saw the Vampire's blank stare, nervous that Spike hadn't responded to her presence. At her sister's instruction and encouragement though, she knelt uncertainly into his lap and encircled her arms around his neck, finding that giving consoling a corpse was remarkably difficult.

After several tense minutes with no result, Dawn slowly began to move away but at Buffy's encouragement she remained. Glancing about her as if to check that no one was observing her behaviour over a creature that she feigned to hate, Buffy joined her sister on the floor and they both sat beside him, rubbing his back and holding him tightly.

A minute or so after Buffy joined them, Spike's arms rose from their previous position on the floor at his sides, encircling them, holding them closer to him. Both women froze; neither daring to move lest they break the tenuous connection they had suddenly established. A tremble ran through his body that soon became continuous; almost violent in the intensity of his shudders, his arms tightening now to an almost bruising grip abut them. Buffy, years of slaying having taught her to withstand abuse such as this, remained still but Dawn yelped slightly as her body was pressed against the Vampire's lithe form, a twitch in corded muscles his only reaction to the sound.

Prying an arm from between his chest and hers, Dawn rubbed his clenched hand with her own smaller one. Shifting her head up despite her discomfort, she whispered in a soft, reassuring voice into his ear. "It's alright. We're here for you. We love you."

The response was immediate. His whole body jerked violently and a loud scream echoed about the crypt, the howl it dissolved into seeming animalistic enough to summon the Hounds of Hell. A force that flung Buffy and Dawn away from him landed them several feet away from him, leaving them sprawled in shock, staring at the location they were previously at.

Spike, now encased in a lattice of twitching, writhing crimson light, had slid sideways down the wall and was now led on the floor, tendons cording in his throat at his spine arched and twisted against whatever was happening to him. The light funneled rapidly down into a point on his abdomen before exploding up again into a fountain, before the energies gathered once more into a ball. 

As Spike finally fell still, lapsing into unconsciousness as his eyelids sank closed, the sphere of bloodied light hovered and expanded, its shape mutating before the anxious women's eyes. Finally, claws touched the ground, the demon standing on highly arched feet that led onto long muscular legs. Arms of rippling flesh ended in long hooked talons, barbs running along each of the four lengths. The head, if it could be identified at one, had no mouth that could be seen, just two huge eyes that seemed to absorb the dim light, the black depths were so intense. A mottled grey, its very skin seemed to heave as millions of barbs that comprised its hide flared up and down repeatedly.

It took a deep rattling breath, into what they couldn't tell, but the room became impossibly colder as it did so. It fixed the dark orbs on the pair and took a step towards them, an arm outstretching and the talons elongating, the sound made identical to a sword being unsheathed.

Dawn instinctively shrank back but Buffy rose quickly and stood between it and her sister, head lowered slightly as she stared at it from beneath a determined brow. It rose the talons, now tipped with an additional six inches of clean, silver-colored bone, and made a slow move for her chest which she kicked away, the arm snapping back rapidly.

She was ready to attack it properly, caution in her stance as her mind replayed the words concerning this creature's talents Giles and Chem had relayed to them all earlier. Instead, she found herself leaping backwards and to the side as it lunged forward unexpectedly, propelled by a force other than its own.

Dawn let loose a small scream as it slammed into the wall beside her, scuttling away from it rapidly. Buffy latched onto her arm and dragged her away from it, the Fresha demon's muscles already rippling as it prepared to pull its head out of the stone. 

"We'd better get him outta here, Buff. No telling how long it's gonna take that thing to get all slash happy," Xander advised from the door, standing beside Willow and Tara. The witches' hands were clasped tightly, pupils dilated to an unnatural size as they concentrated on the bubble of white light hovering infront of them, prepared to fire a section from it again should the demon move.

Nodding quickly, Buffy released her grip on Dawn and moved to Spike, hefting him up over her shoulder before moving to the door, weaving around the witches who didn't move until the others were safely outside. A charm was set to encompass the crypt before they left, the loud thumping as the demon threw itself at the enforced door following them as they moved away to a safer distance, contemplating what to do next.

"I don't get it," Dawn panted as she lent against the gravestone, staring warily at the tomb they had just escaped. "Chem said that the demon would be killed if we comforted Spike."

"Wait a minute. Chem told you to-" Xander shouted, turning to Buffy rapidly, prepared to rant at her in outrage but was cut off before he had the chance to even begin.

"Damnit! That little- He knew what would happen! Great, we gave it a friggin' growth spurt!" She shouted angrily, arms moving to emphasize her fury as she paced the damp grass.

"N-now what do we do? Giles said that it could make us catch fire and w-we don't know how to-" Tara began softly, moving to stand next to Spike who had been laid beside a large headstone, utterly unaware of what was happening. His eyes were open again now, staring unblinking up at the night sky, the stars reflected in his eyes, now dull and lifeless.

"I don't know. The best thing we can do now is keep it contained, right? I don't think it's strong enough to start flaming people right now; it didn't really try anything back there. Let's just hope that charm holds out," Buffy said, trying to reassure and plan at the same time. Scrubbing a hand through her hair, she moved down to kneel beside Spike, waving a hand over his eyes, clenching it when he remained still. She had thought that once the demon was out...

"Uh, Buffy? I don't think that charm was very containing," Anya alerted, interrupting her thoughts as she pointed over her head back at the crypt. 

Turning to look, they all watched as the barrier about the crypt flickered and promptly vanished, the door flying away from the stone as the demon surged out, eyes glowing a fierce red which cast mottled blood colouring over its bristling skin.

"My precious is hungry." 

The voice that sang from behind them caused them to spin around once more, away from the demon which remained by the open doorway, now to their sides visible in the corner of their eyes. Deparis, the wide-brimmed hat casting his skeletal face into utter blackness in the dim light, stood several meters away from them, hands clasped behind his back as he regarded them with wide white eyes, the light from them pouring gleefully over the harsh relief of his face.

Buffy wanted to say something, was desperate to attack the man but found herself, and apparently the others, unable to do so, her voice and body frozen in place. Cocking his head to the side, Deparis took a confident, liquid step towards them before stopping again. This time his voice was dismayed, a sadness that seemed alien in those tones, infringing on his words.

"Precious has no true purpose now. Precious is sad. Precious has no direction in the universe.

"Precious will rip your throats out."

And then, still unable to move, the group watched in horror as the eyes of the Fresha demon flared and it charged forwards, bone sliding out of the talons as it held its arms out behind it, preparing to bring them down through them. Its claws tearing out mounds of wet earth as it charged them, it raised an arm back and brought it down in a wide, lethal arc.

TBC

You hate me. I know. The next chapter may be a while but I have intention of abandoning this so keep on reviewing me and I'll get back to it as soon as I can. I'm interested as to how I have led you so please tell me your thoughts; what you think will happen next, the true nature of Chem and so forth. I honestly want to know how I'm taking you through this, as this is my first Buffy fiction. Thank you again for your patience and kind reviews.


	8. Twirling On the Breeze

It nearly killed me, but I got through the exams. Yay! Well, this chapter came from an exhausted brain, so excuse any long-winded parts that you may come across. I hope I am at least maintaining some of my standards! Fair bit of conversation and explanation here, and then - well, the story is only about four centimeters down so I'll just let you find out... This chapter is a little shorter than I had intended because I have a fair bit left and simply couldn't leave you all hanging while I hammered it out. Nice, aren't I?

One chapter left so I thank you again for bearing with me through this entire thing! Hope you enjoy where I take this, and I hope I have given some pleasure with this little ficlet.

****

Twirling With the Breeze

Wrenching her muscles against the infuriating force that bound her, Buffy felt it snap and she rolled forward instantly, the talon aimed at her jugular nicking her shoulder instead. Flipping onto her feet, she swung a high kick at the demon and it staggered back several feet, its weakness evident. It took a step back towards her to attack again, but a white comet of power from Willow sent it sprawling before it turned abruptly and sprinted away out of sight, a harrowing screech peeling into the sky to signal its retreat.

Her misconception that she had broken free herself from the force that held her was rectified when she turned to see what Deparis was doing. An eyebrow arched sharply when she saw him impaled in the chest with an arrow, one that he tore from himself and dropped to the ground in irritation.

"That was unwise, Watcher," he warned tightly, milky eyes now narrowed to thin slits as his face turned to face his attacker.

Giles stood unflinching some distance away holding a crossbow, already reloaded, the deadly point promising a hit. Deparis made to sweep his right hand in a gesture, but Giles was faster and the arrow penetrated the thin palm before any force could be projected. 

Curiously leaving this arrow in place, Deparis quickly glanced at the group and in the direction the Fresha demon had fled, before turning his eyes to the clear night sky. Hands turned palms-up, he raised himself from the ground, gaining speed and altitude rapidly and Giles had no choice but to lower the crossbow after one shot after the ascending figure proved untrue.

Silence descended on the cemetery now, and after a quick visual and verbal check of the others, Buffy turned to the only felled. Spike seemed to be more animated now; his condition somewhere between alert and comatose. He sat against the gravestone, hands folded in his lap and large eyes watching Buffy intently, blinking owlishly when she approached him.

"Come on," she beckoned to him in a soft voice, motioning him towards her. To the surprise of the others, particularly Xander who had shown some civility towards the Vampire by extending an unneeded hand, Spike rose eerily smoothly to his feet and trailed a few feet behind Buffy, his face a mask and his right hand trembling.

****

"How did you know to come there, Giles? Not that I don't appreciate your presence, it just seemed strange that you should turn up at the exact moment we needed you," Anya asked curiously, slender hands curved about the hot mug of coffee she had set for herself at the table in the backroom of the Magic Box. Giles was sat to her right, Buffy at his side, and save for Tara and Spike, the entire group had assembled with warm drinks.

"By no means that could be considered suspicious Anya, I assure you. Tara phoned me actually. She said that something had happened and that I should meet you at the cemetery with weapons," the Watcher replied innocently, a wry smile at the ex-vengeance demon's immediate suspicion of him.

"Tara's been keeping an eye on Spike's aura, ever since him found him impaled on Xander and Anya's wall. It's a bit touch and go; that's why it took so long to actually register. She sensed something was 'off' and that we would need a fair bit of magic to help, and then we spent some time trying to pinpoint what had happened. 

"We couldn't though; that Fresha demon was causing magical interference. We only found out what was really going on when Buffy called, um, about an hour after Tara felt it," Willow explained in her lover's place. Her fingers clenched uncomfortably as she remembered the sensations she felt through the spell when Tara had allowed her to touch the Vampire's aura; the despair and a curious underlying sense of fear. Perhaps Spike had known beforehand that the demon would emerge.

"An hour? He was alone with the body for an hour? God, no wonder he's such a mess," Buffy mused, a hand going through her hair again in what was becoming a common gesture. Her shoulder had already healed thanks to the Slayer status she held, her top bloodied still as she had failed to change. 

There was silence for a few minutes before Giles seemed to remember something of importance, his entire body jolting slightly before he cleared his throat, gathering their attention one more. 

"I, um, received an interesting e-mail from the Council a few hours ago-"

"The Council has e-mail?" Xander exclaimed in surprise, further comments about the archaic Council and their seemingly sudden leap into the modern silenced by a glare from Giles, one that was mirrored by Buffy and, strangely enough, Dawn, who was leant against the wall with her arms crossed.

"As I was saying, it seems that the Slayer that took residence the last time Buffy, died, has been successful in destroying the god-like creature Vala in France. So now, Deparis is out of the job and we still have an uncontrollable demon on the loose, which in a few days will be strong enough to incinerate every creature capable of emotion on this planet," Giles rattled off quickly, bringing his own cup to his lips as he finished the sentence. He downed the scalding tea in one go, relishing the burning sensation down his throat, a momentary distraction from their current predicament.

"Have you dug up anything else on this thing? How to fight it, and more importantly how to kill it," Buffy asked, her attention still fixed intently on the Watcher.

Giles shook his head slowly. "Only what we already know. Chem is the only creature I've ever met who has had prior experience with Fresha demons, and now he's left we're been unceremoniously left back at square one."

"Damn weasel. I knew he was no good," Xander muttered, eyes narrowing at the memory of the peculiar creature.

"In the meantime, all we can do is research further, perhaps run through the stock we have in the shop, and try to help Spike in any way that we can," Giles interrupted before Xander could continue and rouse the group into another 'we hate Chem' discussion.

"Yeah, but what do we do about him? I don't know about the rest of you, but I didn't study Vampire psychology," Willow stated honestly and offhandedly, her tone a vain attempt to disarm the feeling of impending doom which, although accustomed to by now, they really didn't need right at the moment. 

Giles spoke truthfully when no-one else had anything to offer to her statement. "Quite frankly, I have no idea of what is happening in Spikes' mind right now. His condition earlier was a state of catatonia, but now he seems to simply be detached. Vampires have unique physical abilities that allow them to recover from bodily trauma, but we can only guess at what barriers he has erected in his mind for self-preservation. For all we know, there could be an internal battle with his demon between grief and vengeance taking place. He could simply 'snap out of it', or he could sink deeper into his own mind. Hopefully that isn't the case as he seems to be more alert than when Buffy found him."

"Anya, Giles, see what kind of fire-power we have here; maybe the big guns will stop it. Willow, Xander, see if you can find any books that'll help. Dawn, try and get something to eat. I'm going to check on Spike and Tara," Buffy instructed before stepping up from the table, striding purposefully into the training room whilst the others exchanged worried glances before turning to their own tasks.

*****

Things were no longer going to plan. His precious was finally out and reeking havoc where it belonged, granted, but he had intended to have the beast little more than a whimpering shell by now. Somehow the leach was clinging to sanity, something that Deparis simply couldn't allow, not while the others were interfering anyway.

Something had to be done before the situation became dangerous. 

Vala was gone now, destroyed by that little foreign thing in a spectacular display of cunning and power, but his task was so close to completion it seemed a shame to simply step away. No longer restricted by a pre-determined final result, simply destroying this miserable, rotating ball of boredom, Deparis was now able to enjoy the luxury of toying with it first. 

The slayer and her band of heroes, cliche as they were, were making a valiant effort to destroy his precious so soon after it's birth, and that rubbed him the wrong way immensely. They had to be stopped before they stumbled across the one thing that he could not prevent, the only aspect of his entire mission that he was entirely unable to create a fall-back plan for. He had hoped to have his precious overcome that weakness before it could be exploited but the leach had failed to break. Now there was a problem.

The Vampire had to be destroyed before they found out.

****

Tara was now very concerned. She had been trying her best to console Spike, or at least rouse him from wherever he had disappeared to mentally. Her methods ranged from unanswered questions to distraction by speculating upon anything and everything. At the moment they, she moreso, had turned the topic to films, something she knew Spike had at least an opinion on.

"I agree with the papers that it should have a higher certificate, 'cause the violence, especially near the end, is quite harsh. I know you don't actually see Osborn getting impaled, but I think the hint was enough. The sequel should be better; more Spider-Man and less Peter Parker. I know that they needed to get an 'how it all began' thing going before they started the series, but it was a bit tedious. What do you think?"

For his part, Spike continued to stare at his hands, blinking occasionally. Tara had gently cleaned them of his sister's blood, but it felt like it was still there; clammy, sticky and clinging.

"How's he doing?"

Tara turned slightly startled at Buffy's voice, rising from where she had crouched beside the silent Vampire in the chair. "Not too good. I don't think he's eaten anything in a while and he's refusing anything I offer," she sighed in exasperation.

"Maybe he'll take the real deal," Buffy replied flatly before extending her wrist to Spike, turning her arm so the faint blue lines could be seen through the soft flesh, warm blood entirely vulnerable.

Spike stared at the extremity for a few seconds before snorting in disgust and shoving it away, rising quickly and moving to the opposite side of the room, arms coming up about his waist in a protective shield. Buffy was unsure how to react to that; should she be happy that she had elicited a response from him, or concerned that he had refused the precious fluid?

She didn't have time to ponder it further though as Spike's eyes suddenly widened, arms snapping out as he moved from the wall and turned to face it startled, feet a step apart and legs bent slightly. Without his duster on and a sleeveless black shirt revealing his arms, they could both see whipcord muscles flexing in anticipation of the perceived threat.

Buffy had barely moved to his side when the wall suddenly exploded, bricks and dust spraying out towards them, causing Tara to shy back and Spike to crouch low, Buffy remaining standing through the barrage. As the cloud settled, a lone figure emerged through the darkness, large and predatory as it stalked in from the dark street into the room. The Fresha demon appeared to have grown stronger, it's frame easily six inches taller than before, barbed skin rippling threateningly as it gazed down at them.

It rose a clawed hand quickly and prepared to bring it down onto the wide-eyed Vampire, Spike simply staring at the beast and showing no inclination of dodging the blow. Buffy lunged at him, tackling him to the ground just as she heard a hiss of air as the talons swiped. 

Rolling, she heard it make a noise that was something between a whine and a snarl as familiar bolt of blue energy slammed into it, sending it back a step before it recovered angrier than before. Willow stood in the doorway, pupils dilated enormously as she protected Tara whom was stood with a spell-book behind her.

Spike remained still where Buffy had pushed him as she stood preparing to attack the beast again. She arched a slender brow in surprise when she saw it begin to twitch, it's talons clawing at its chest and back as it tried, it seemed, to tear its very skin off. A tell-tale shimmer over its shoulder gave away what was happening, but Buffy was still wary. Shouting out a warning, Giles threw the Slayer an axe that she caught in one hand, barely taking her eyes off the scene before them.

Raising it in preparation, Buffy stepped forward and threw it, hitting it directly in the chest. Surprised when she heard a shout of pain that was definitely too human to come from the Fresha demon, she backed up instantly as she had been taught when she encountered something she could not quite figure out. 

There was a flash of light from the demon's throat before it screeched again and slumped forward, its bristling skin finally falling still. The eyes dimmed but, disturbingly, remained open, staring bleakly at nothingness.

There was a groan of pain as the shimmer moved to the fallen creature's shoulders, Chem releasing his control over his appearance with a wince, holding the axe loosely in one hand. Holding it up to his face with a contemplative expression, he ran a slender finger over the blade, wiping the purple fluid from its surface. 

Pressing a hand to the fresh wound in his right shoulder, he casually stepped off of the creature and offered the weapon back to Buffy. "Next time you throw an axe, try to aim for the correct demon my dear. I do not appreciate being injured fighting 'the good fight'," he said with a tight smile as she took it from him, holding it with a scowl at her side.

"Where the hell did you go?" she demanded, eyes narrowing as she took in the somewhat haggard state of the Kalmala. Even his eyes seemed to have lost a drop of their sparkle, the electric blue hair smudged with something unidentifiable and a few more lines had been added to the already worn face.

"I have been doing what you could not; research how to defeat this 'bane of humanity' correctly. I suggest that we move away from here before I move to explanations though. My attack will only render it harmless for a few minutes, and when it does wake up its demeanor will be less than amiable," he explained, ignoring the others and moving straight to Spike who was still sat on the floor, debris scattered about him. 

Lip twitching as he regarded the staring Vampire, Chem reached down and grasped an arm in his hand, hefting him up and dumping him over his shoulder. Adjusting the prone form slightly, he then turned to the new exit the Fresha had created and made his way out, stepping carelessly along it as he left. Turning to Giles with a shrug, Buffy swiftly followed, the rest of the Scoobies in tow. 

The air was crisp and cool outside, swirls of clouds hiding the stars and moon from them as they trooped out across the town. Chem had not spoken since they left, leaving them all in the dark concerning their destination, which Buffy was none-too happy about. When a few attempts at what would have been an argument failed to achieve a response, the young slayed gave up, falling back with the others as they followed a few cautious meters behind the demon.

Spike had fallen unconscious again at some point during their journey, a suspicious hand movement from Chem likely the cause Giles had mused loudly. Chem approved of the stiller Vampire though, his lack of movement meaning that his already tender shoulder did not cause him any more pain than was required.

Weaving through the woods on the outskirts of the town, Chem suddenly stopped without warning and dumped the pale body at the base of a large tree, looking about behind him cautiously before crouching down infront of him. Holding the angular chin in one hand, he pressed the other firmly to a cool temple, sighing after a few seconds and turning to the others as he rose. Uncomfortable on the ground, he moved lithely to a second tree a few feet from the one Spike lay at the base of, stepping up it backwards and squatting against the bark three meters above the ground.

"I am correct in saying that Spike has been quite unresponsive to your efforts to rouse him," he stated absently. Glancing down at the drying wound through his shirt, he returned his gaze back to the group. His face was now holding none of its usual amusement as he stared at them levelly. "Vampires are essentially a demon spirit in a human shell, as you are all aware. What you are not aware of is that the demon is affected still by stimulus that would usually affect the human spirit in a disagreeable manner. That is how Deparis used him to give the Fresha demon strength. What I did not know previously was that not only do negative emotions feed it, but positive ones too."

"That's why it appeared right after Dawn and I hugged him," Buffy said softly, glancing over to her quiet sister who bit her lip guiltily, arms crossing as she looked down at the ground uncomfortably.

"That would be a correct assumption, yes. Anyway, I have found out the way in which we can kill this creature, although, certain sacrifices must be made to accomplish that," Chem continued, rolling his eyes when Xander chose to interrupt this time.

"What do you mean 'certain sacrifices'?"

Ignoring the question entirely, Chem continued with a warning glare that implied that he would take action the next time he was interrupted. "The Fresha demon is still taking energy from Spike, feeding off of the oh-so tedious emotions of despair and suffering that he is feeling, even whilst unconscious. The only way to kill it is to attack during the transition period where it moves from feeding from Spike to the general population, which luckily takes a good hour."

Chem dropped from the tree then, striding purposefully to Spike before crouching over his legs, one hand pressing against his forehead so that the back of his skull was braced against the trunk of the thick tree. The other clenched into a fist before expanding, a pulse of light erupting and elongating from his palm until it was the shape and size of a dagger, the weapon glowing ominously with pulsating light.

Fingers curled knowingly about the hilt, Chem rose the dagger out to the side of the Vampire's skull, aiming the tip of the blade at the smooth temple. Lip curling against the pain in his shoulder that the position caused, Chem slammed the glowing weapon sideways before anyone could get close enough to him to prevent the action, Buffy screaming at him to stop. Too late.

Leaping up as age-old instincts prickled a warning, Chem landed upside down on his knees on the trunk just above Spike's head, hand snapping out to catch the axe that would have impacted between his shoulder blades, its course switching to Spike's throat when he had moved. 

"Now what did I say about aiming for the correct demon?" he hissed as he dangled the weapon from his fingers, eyes flickering to Spike before moving back to Buffy.

The blade had evaporated into golden sparks when he had released it, but of course none of them noticed, more concerned as they were with removing his head from his shoulders. Sensing multiple threats to his immediate existence now, Chem brought about his abilities to hand and, with a ripple of blue, was gone. They heard him move up the trunk, the leaves behind them rustling as he obviously leapt to the next branch before all fell silent once more.

Spike remained as still and lifeless as before, but in the distance, an enraged howl could be heard, the sound seeming as if the very hounds of hell were voicing their outrage.

TBC

Hmm, Chem taking an interesting turn there, don't ya think? Evil or a goodie? I am far too evil to let you know until the very end, but I am interested to hear any speculation on your part. Hint there, by the way! Chapter-the-next will be coming in a while with an epilogue attached to wrap everything up. Now, as I have been so nice as to grit my teeth against a very persistent headache to type this, you should be so gracious as to leave me a review concerning how I'm doing. Go ahead. I won't stop you :-P.


	9. Calvalry

It may read as a half-arsed attempt to finish this bloody thing but I actually had to work quite hard on this final chapter, particularly since I haven't touched it in about four months.  Love it, hate it, just review me and let me know because I'm just glad it's finished.  I will re-do this eventually so this is just a rough-draft of what I intend to post as 'final'.  I just needed this finished for a competition and this is what my brain managed to spit out. Cavalry "What the hell did he do?!" 

Buffy's angered voice seemed to echo through the woods causing the terrible screeching that could be heard on the horizon to start up again, a replying call of doom to the desperate inquiry into the night.

They all exchanged nervous looks, whether they were at the sounds of the closing demon or the venom in Buffy's eyes they weren't quite sure.  Turning to face the racket with crossbow at the ready, Giles took a few steps into the trees to protect them if necessary as Buffy approached Spike.

Impossibly, he seemed to be even stiller than before; his head was hung now, his eyes closed and the features on the angular face falling slack.  Biting her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, Buffy kneeled down over his form feeling utterly at a loss as to what to do now.  She could hear Dawn crying softly from where she stood with Xander, a comforting arm slung about her shoulders as the older teen watched on in confusion.  

He had never expected to see the Vampire fall.  The cocky creature was like a recurring nightmare or toothache; it always returned to frustrate and annoy them sooner or later.  The fact that he was likely 'gone' now was something very difficult indeed to acknowledge let alone comprehend.

Reaching out a cautious hand, Buffy withdrew it rapidly and her eyes widened in shock as Spike's vampire visage slipped into place, the pale skin buckling and contorting silently as the transformation swiftly took place.  Confused, she made to touch him again when he remained unmoving for a few more seconds only to let out a squeak of surprise when he lunged at her with a roar.

Rolling with the force of the impact, she brought her feet up to her chest and roughly shoved him off of her, moving to sit on his back and bring his arms up hard behind him, leaning her weight against those sinewy muscles which threatened to break her grip.  He strained beneath her making unsettlingly animalistic sounds before falling still, panting unnecessarily into the cool earth as he seemed to regain his bearings.  Finally the harsh breaths stopped and the sound of him scenting the air softly could be heard.

"Buffy?  What the 'ell 're you doin'?" he croaked, his voice gravelly from underuse.

"Spike?" the Slayer breathed back, barely hesitating before she quickly released him and stood over him, grasping the material of his shirt and hauling him none-too-gently to his feet.  He hissed at the sudden movement, blue eyes flashing yellow before receding to human again entirely.

Surprising everyone there, including herself, Buffy wrapped her arms about his waist and held him tight to her, reassuring herself that she hadn't allowed him to be killed him for good with that stunt Chem had pulled.  Freezing at the movement for a moment before recovering, Spike brought his hands up to her forearms and pushed her away, looking down into her face seriously.

"I really don't think this is the time for that, pet," he said, cocking a scarred eyebrow sharply behind her in the direction of yet more howls.  As if a thought had suddenly occurred to him, Spike looked about himself quickly before returning his gaze to her.  "Where's Chem?  I remember, well, fuzzily recollect him carryin' me."

Eyes narrowing into veritable chips of ice at that name, Buffy snapped out a response, some part of her feeling relieved that they were sinking back into the same old trend. Little had changed.  "'Chem' stuck a mystical glowy knife thing through your head just now.  Excuse me for not giving a damn about where he is."

He frowned at her, his brow furrowing as he tried to remember what had actually happened.  His eyes widened when he realized that Buffy had probably run the mischievous demon off before he could explain what had occurred.  "Chem was helpin' luv.  Exorcised my demon for a second."

"Exorcised?  As in priest type exorcise?" Willow asked as her attention was perked as well as her curiosity.   

"No, more like a brutal knock-out type; none of that chanting mumbo-jumbo.  Still bloody hurt though," Spike added, a hand going up to rub at the back of his head where it felt like someone had imbedded a large, blunt axe.

"He broke the link," Giles murmured before clarifying in a louder voice for everyone else to hear.  "Chem sent the demon out of Spike's body and in doing so broke the connection between the Fresha demon and Spike.  Which means that it'll move onto the population within an hour.  We have to kill it now Buffy, this is our only chance." "Well that should work well with absolutely no weapons!" Buffy shouted back at the Watcher in exasperation.  He offered her a small, wry smile as he lifted the crossbow slightly, the only weapon of real use between them all now that the axe was gone. 

Without warning said axe dropped from the trees, landing with a dull 'thud' at the toes of Buffy's boots.  Grinning despite the droning in his skull, Spike scanned the trees for the shimmer that would indicate the position of his friend.  Unfortunately it could only be seen when the demon was moving, which apparently he wasn't as he couldn't see anything over than twigs and leaves.

"Chem!  Get your demon ass back to the bar and round up Hi'Frek and his mates.  Bring 'em here," he shouted up in the dark.

"Ah yes.  Brute force would be more appropriate for this particular enemy than incompetence," they heard a familiar voice call back before the leaves rustled and he was gone.

"Hey!" Xander shouted after the departing, albeit invisible, figure in indignation.

"He's just snarked off that you threw that axe at him," Spike informed Buffy, nodding towards the weapon that she had just knelt down and collected. 

"How the heck did you know that?  You were unconscious."

"It's you," he snorted back sounding amused.  "Come on.  Might as well set up some kind of perimeter before the cavalry gets here.  That beasty sounds right pissed." **** Ten minutes later the bulky armored demon stepped out of the driver's cabin of a large, red pickup truck, a group of demons in assorted shapes, sizes and colours in the back.   Unloading a rather impressive arsenal of weapons, familiar and foreign, they all stood before the Slayer awaiting instructions.  Evidently Chem had convinced them beforehand to form a grudging alliance with her, the fate of the world being pretty much in her hands a rather good bargaining chip for that truce. 

And the Fresha Demon continued to close in on their position, its howls of fury and hunger piercing the night air and sending Fledgelings back into their shadowed homes trembling in fear.  

After their forces had gathered they had moved impossibly deeper into the wood, the demons separating into the trees to lie in wait, their very nature the human's defense as they were relying on their supernatural senses for an advanced warning.  Willow and Tara were immersed in the undergrowth at the side of the clearing Buffy, Giles, Spike and Chem occupied, fully prepared to cast a number of spells when the Fresha appeared.  Xander had bowed under Buffy's protective orders and taken Dawn away, the teen protesting every meter that they walked away from the scene of the imminent battle.

Buffy stood at her Watcher's side, both the established fighters eerily relaxed despite the sounds, faces set in grin determination as they clutched the smooth wood of their weapons; Giles with a crossbow and Buffy with her axe, numerous stakes occupying the area around the small of her back.

Surprisingly, it was Chem and Spike who seemed the most restless of them all.

"I'm afraid that you are simply going to have to curb your most constructive feelings for now, old friend, as this is not quite the time for revenge," Chem spoke smoothly, his sparkling eyes facing forward, not on the anxious Vampire at his side.

Spike shifted uneasily, his weight switching from his left foot to his right.  "I know that.  But all I can think about is wringing that little light-bulb-headed freak's scrawny neck and shoving his head up his.  Then he can spend the rest of his miserable life wandering around looking for the light switch.  As violence-loving that I am, I just don't want to be here."

A weary sigh this time.  "I'm afraid that is my doing.  A side effect of the brutal exorcism that I performed on you is the demon's overwhelming desire to harm whoever attacked it.  To be frank you are quite useless here; it will quite impossible for you to 'throw' yourself into this battle with as much vigor as you usually would, unless you satisfy your demon with Deparis first."

Sharp eyes, still hard from the suffering over the last week, turned on the Kalmala. "You're saying that I should leave?"

With an expression that was a curious cross between a grin and a smirk Chem leant in close to him.  "I'll cover for you," he whispered before straightening.  "I think you'll find that he has been operating out of the five-star hotel near the UC Sunnydale campus.  Something, appropriate, would be enough to bring your mind back from these recent events I believe." 

Smirking himself now, Spike risked a glance over to the Slayer's back before stepping backwards, immersing himself into the shadows. "Thanks mate."

"Anytime my aggressive friend, anytime." 

*****

It was quite easy to deduce the Fresha Demon's state of being when it finally, dramatically, hulked its form into the small clearing, numerous growls and shouts from the hidden demons having alerted them all of its nearing for some time.

It was pissed.

The eyes now glowed with an intensity that was almost blinding, the barbs that comprised its hide rippling ceaselessly, violently.  Its screeching howls that had been voiced over the last half-hour were now continuous, its disapproval of having its thread of emotional-energy being cut off.  It had not yet established itself enough to feed from the general population, relying on internal strength that was slowly diminishing to keep on moving.  That didn't make it any less formidable though.

Four of the demons that Chem had brought with him were already dead and the leader of the strange group himself had an impressive gash running the length of his back, blood-loss making his camouflaging talents less effective and his supernatural powers weak.  At present he was keeping himself on the opposite side of the demon to Buffy and Giles, slashing at the shifting hide of its haunches with a broadsword he had brought back with him. 

The crossbow had been abandoned simply because it was useless in close-range combat, which the Fresha seemed intent on having.  Giles was now shoving stakes into every part of the demon that he could reach, mostly with the purpose of distracting it so that Buffy could get a clean shot with her axe.  That was the going plan of the Witches, although the Fresha seemed immune to a lot of what they had already thrown at it and Anya's attempts with a sword were not going well either.

One of it's clawed hands was gone now, a strange goo trickling from the stump of an arm and smearing the blade of the axe, but still the demon kept on coming.  Finally, Chem provided the opening needed by pouncing onto its shoulders, wrapping his legs about its neck and slamming his hands over its eyes.  Obviously trying to shut it down like he had before, he moved his now-smoking hands away with a shout of pain as he realised that he had picked the wrong part of its body to focus his energies through.

But the distraction had been enough.  Swinging the blade down Buffy opened its torso in a clean sweep, wrenching the axe out of the earth and swiping it through the broad neck milliseconds after Chem jumped clear.  Another howl and an admittedly spectacular show of lights before the beast disintegrated, a lattice of crimson hanging suspended in the air before it disappeared on the breeze.

There was absolute silence for a few seconds before the realization that it was dead sunk in, the surviving demons cheering and growling triumph before deciding that the alliance was over and stalking back to the urbanized area outside the wood.  Tara and Willow were jumping up and down hugging with abandon and Giles was smiling broadly, getting hugged by Anya a second later after seeing the Witches' example that that action was appropriate.  Buffy grinned herself as she dropped the heavy weapon, glancing around herself to celebrate her victory with the Vampire the Fresha had been spawned from only to find his presence lacking.

Her smile faltering, she strode to Chem who was sitting on the ground with his legs splayed, his weight resting through his elbows on his raised knees and his breathing coming in slow, careful breathes so as not to stretch the wound on his back further.  Standing over him with her hands on her hips, she asked in a highly suspicious voice, "where's Spike?"

He had been expecting the question, that much was obvious when he turned his face up to hers, the corners of his eyes crinkling with pain that he had decided not to voice openly.  "Getting that thing which you humans call 'closure'.  He should be back in a few hours.  Or days, depending on how creative he is feeling tonight."

"He's gone after Deparis," she murmured to herself, her eyes going distant as she mentally scrolled through the ramifications of such an action.

"Clever girl.  It was instinct, pure and unyielding, that drove him there.  Removing the demon from his body, although risky, had the added bonus of not only breaking the Fresha's connection to him, but of also giving it a veritable slap in the face.  All those emotions that have been swirling about in his head ever since Deparis laid eyes on him are all being directed outwards now with one sole purpose in his mind.  To hurt, maim and kill him."  He snorted lightly to himself, looking away as his own mind turned over something new.  "I'm quite jealous actually."  

****

His Precious was gone.  Scattered on the breeze.  Sentenced to oblivion as a powerless, formless ghost of its true, beautiful self.  Gone forever.

Deparis knew that he had to leave Sunnydale and quickly; with his Precious gone there was nothing to keep him here, and his nature was not that of one to accept failure, especially his own.  He would have to make those who had stopped him pay, for no other reason than that they had gotten into his way and destroyed something truly magnificent in the process.

He had already sent his larger toys through the portal, sending the machine that created the proverbial 'blip' in space through it too.  Nothing organic could go through it, a feature of its design that he found amusing because it defied physics in that it could transport that which could create it through it.  Either way, he had to leave the Hellmouth on foot with his ever-present bag in hand should anything arise to try and prevent that course of action.

Deparis had gotten to the end of the corridor from his room when he detected a familiar scent in the air, a light, dusty scent that he had committed to memory some time ago.  The Animal was back.  It had survived.

This was not pleasing and served to lengthen his strides, his mind extending in an attempt to detect the creature's exact location.  He pinpointed it a second too late though, for it stepped out of the elevator he was meters from, shoulder's raised and teeth bared in a purely animalistic fashion.  There was no real sense in those eyes, only the desire to tear his throat out.

Now he couldn't have that.

Lazily outstretching a hand to discard the Beast, he was surprised to find his wrist broken within a second.  Apparently its rage, the source of it unknown as the levels were impossible, had lent it a speed that was not its own.  This creature had just become a significant danger to him.  His hand automatically outstretching over his case, his mind prepared to pull any number of instruments from its depths to aid him, but found himself unable as that wrist too was broken.  

Not used to physical combat, Deparis could do little as the savage animal lifted him up by his throat and carried him back down the corridor into the room, he had previously occupied, his scent betraying his path meaning that the Vampire knew this room's sole occupants would be them.  Kicking the door shut behind them, the Beast with the shock of ice-white hair continued to glare at him, a steady rumble emanating from his chest and reverberating down his arm against his throat.

Throwing him mercilessly against the wall, Deparis sat in a crumpled heap on the floor as he felt the Vampire's eyes bore into him, the Beast obviously deciding what to do with him next.  As he sat there Deparis could only berate himself for underestimating this one.  Master Vampires were always tricky characters but he had been positive that this one was effectively dead.  Friends working to this extent to help it was something he had not counted on, something that he knew he was going to pay dearly for. 

Evidently having set its mind on what punishment it was going to exact the Beast sent a sharp kick to his ribs to keep him down before disappearing out of the room and returning with his bag.  Deparis felt a surge of utter outrage at this; his oldest and most comfortably broken-in bag was now in the possession of this filth.  But all he had the power to do was glare, both his hands useless now and internal bleeding obvious from the surging pain in his chest.

Tearing open the top of the bag which he had set on the bed, the Vampire delved its pale hand inside, cursing loudly when it touched something that burned before reaching out and tearing away a strip of the sheets.  Wrapping it as a barrier between his skin and the contents of the bag, he reinserted his hand and produced a handful of thin, shining stakes.  Identical to the ones that had been used to impale it, Deparis deduced that a quaint irony was going to play a major factor in his suffering, the spare weapons he had created the focus of that irony.

Holding three of the silver stakes clumsily in the hand that also encased his throat, the Beast hauled Deparis onto his feet and brought the single stake in his free hand back, driving it forward with intent into the arm at his side, smoke curling up unnoticed from between it's fingers as it held it.  Broken bones and raw nerves screamed as the stake separated them further, and although he was not reactive to the metal as the Vampire was it still stung a great deal.  The process was then repeated on the other arm, both wrists now nailed brutally into the wall with two to spare.

Obviously having no huge desire to allow his existence to continue for any great length of time, the Animal stepped back and released his throat.  Blood-loss and pain stole Deparis of his strength and sent him crashing to his knees, his wrists burning as they were pulled at by the weight of his body.  Bringing luminous eyes that were rapidly dimming up to face his tormentor, Deparis followed the ice-blue eyes as the Beast knelt down to his eye-level, coming in close to his face so that its cool breath splayed over his face and lips.

"Payback's a bitch."

Then, with eyes sparkling and lips pulled in a smile of quiet, personal triumph, the remaining two stakes were brought out either side of his head in each hand before slamming in on him.  And then oblivion descended.

****

They had returned straight to the Magic Box, Dawn diving into Buffy's arms and Xander exhaling in relief when they all entered relatively unscathed.  Chem had refused help and walked back with them on his own steam, but he had looked ready to collapse when they passed through the doors, having to actually sit in a seat to recover himself rather than take his customary position against the wall.

They had stayed there for a twenty minutes, everyone babbling excitedly about the details of the battle to the pair who had not been present, everyone except for Buffy.  The Slayer stood staring out of the shop window waiting for any sign of Spike, her concern for the sarcastic Vampire growing with every passing minute that he failed to emerge.

When Chem shifted into a straighter position she knew that the Kalmala had sensed something important, staring at him expectantly for clarification.  The blue-haired demon said nothing, only grinned in that infuriatingly cryptic way that only he could and cast his eyes to the back door.  Soon everyone was watching it expectantly, picking up on both his and Buffy's gaze and following it so see what was so significant.

After a few seconds the heavy door slammed open, the wood smashing into the wall as Spike entered with as much bravado as could be expected when he was having a good day.  Grinning at the group he quickly moved over to Chem, glancing with concern over his split jacket and back before meeting his eyes.

"Closure?"

"Hell yeah."

****

No more than a week later Chem's wound had healed and life had more or less returned to normal.  Buffy was back out slaying, Spike was tagging a long and generally being a pain in the ass.   The Kalmala had told the Vampire whilst they were drinking up a storm in his crypt that now that nothing really exciting was occurring in SunnyHell he was going to be making his way south to seek out his own entertainment.  

Spike had just smiled at him and asked what was south to which Chem replied with a matching expression, "the Slayer that replaced the European one last week.  Your one is fairly amusing and I am hoping that it is a trend in that profession."

Despite a bitch of a hangover the following night Chem had departing, leaving Spike with the unsettling words that he would return when he would be least expected.  To put it mildly, this did not impress Buffy at all.

End

Yup, crap ending.  I know.  You think I don't?!  On the upside I finally finished it.  On the downside I left about a million 'strings' untied.  Sod it; it's readable and spell-checked.


End file.
